


We're Living Like We're Gods

by eden22



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Horror, M/M, Monsters, the post-CATWS revenge roadtrip au I've always wanted to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: Sam wasn't sure what he'd expected when he'd signed on to join Steve in hunting down the Winter Soldier. After over a year with no sign of the other man, he was beginning to think they'd never find him, especially once Steve gets pulled back into Avengers business.Sam was right. He doesn't find Barnes.Barnes finds him.





	1. I need to break the silence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2017 Sam Wilson Birthday Bash. Shout out to the organizers, y'all did an incredible job of coordinating the whole thing, it was honestly so well run and fun to be a part of. Check out the other works for the bash at the [Sam Wilson Birthday Bash Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sam_Wilson_BB/) or visit [the tumblr](https://samwilsonbirthdaybang.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you so much to [Helahler](http://helahler.tumblr.com/) who was such a pleasure to work with and made such amazing art to accompany this story!! You can also view their art on [their tumblr](http://helahler.tumblr.com/tagged/swbb).
> 
> Huge thanks to Megan and [Helen](http://firstactloadedgun.tumblr.com/) for betaing this fic. Thank you for being so mean to me, it would be a very different fic without y'all.

The boredom was familiar, he thought as he shifted in the front seat of their latest vehicle. The dull monotony of _nothing_ constantly undercut with a thin, vibrating layer of anxiety and anticipation: the same in the front seat of a fucking hideous orange 1973 Chevrolet in rural Georgia as it was in the back of a humvee bumping down a dusty road in Afghanistan. His fingers twitched against the denim of his pants and he wished he had a cigarette, some candy, _anything_. He could feel Steve’s gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on the fields blurring past them, ignoring the faint ghost of Steve staring at him reflected on the glass of the window. He’d just finally broken the man of his habit of asking if Sam was sure he wanted to come with him every five minutes. He’d hate to have it start up again just because Sam felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. 

Sam took in a slow, deep breath, the scent of dusty old upholstery and stale cigarette smoke filling his lungs as he stared out the window and forced himself to run over their current mission one last time. The intel from Tash had been sketchy. It usually was, but it was enough to send Sam and Steve spiraling down through Georgia from where they’d been checking out an abandoned farm in Ohio. The farm hadn’t been anything important anyways, a sad piece of land that a guy had told a guy had told a friend of Clint’s that he’d seen a dude with a metal arm hiding out on (there hadn’t been anything there, there never was).

They were on a back highway south of Atlanta, east of Columbus, the kind of place that never made it onto any maps. The only signs of human habitation were the occasional dilapidated farms, small towns that sagged with the desperate weight of poverty. The kind of places that made Steve’s hands clench on the steering wheel. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because the sight of so many people abandoned by their government set off the righteous rage that Sam had seen so often since he’d met Steve, or if it was because the poverty reminded Steve of his own childhood. Sam thought he might even work up the nerve to ask, maybe once they hit the one year anniversary of their fucked up meandering back and forth across the forgotten back roads of America. 

The Hydra installment they were going to check out was unusually located in the middle of nowhere. More often, Hydra tended to favour major centres where they could wield the greatest influence over politicians and their ilk; cities like Toronto, New York, Las Vegas. The last time they’d followed one of Tash’s threads to a rural base – that hadn’t been just a farmer with a penchant for weapons stockpiling, or a fringe doomsday cult – it had been to an underground facility near the Three Sisters in the Rockies. Sam’s brain still shied away from the memory of what they’d found there. The facility hadn’t been big, but it had been deep, buried under layers and layers of rock. A fine layer of dust lay over everything but Sam still swore he could hear screams echoing through the hallways, the ghosts of the twisted bodies they’d found there pressing down on him, making his blood run hot and cold as he threw up in a corner. 

“I remember…” Steve had said, voice soft and wrecked, and Sam was so fucking grateful that he didn’t finish that thought. He didn’t want to know what memories the sight of small bodies tossed into a pile in the corner like garbage would bring up for the other man. They’d burned that place, once they’d searched the whole thing, Steve checking every paper file twice before they’d dropped a homemade bomb down the elevator shaft and watched a red flower bloom deep in the earth, stories and stories below them. Sam didn’t know, as they left, if Steve felt relieved or not that they hadn’t found any sign that Barnes had ever been in that particular slice of hell. Sam was too numb to feel much of anything, not even the familiar frustration that had begun to hang over both of them like a cloud the longer they went without finding a sign of the other man. Not a stray file, not a chair like the one in the photos Tash had given them, like the one Maria had unearthed in a bank vault in DC. It was looking more and more likely that the file that Tash had given them had been the only existing intel in the world on the Winter Soldier. If the guy hadn’t ripped a steering wheel straight out of his hands, Sam would be tempted to say they’d hallucinated him.

“We’re almost there,” Steve said, interrupting Sam’s reverie. Sam swallowed, throat clicking, and he found himself praying that the small farm they were driving to would hold nothing other than an angry old white man with a pile of AK-47s who’d yell racist shit at Sam until he and Steve left. He couldn’t believe that was the better option. 

They were using an approach that had worked well for them in the past – going in with weapons nearby but not drawn, dressed in their civvies. No matter how many times his and Steve’s faces had been plastered across the news, people just didn’t expect Captain America and the Falcon to show up on their front porch, covered in dust and rocking plaid button-ups. Hydra agents or just ordinary civilians, the tactic worked on both. Of course, it was always better to approach stealthily, but sometimes that wasn’t an option, especially in middle-America. It was the best approach they had come up with for farmland where there was no cover to hide their arrival at a building, no high vantage point to observe from. Sam was sure that there was some fancy equipment that could make up for those two circumstantial difficulties, and not for the first time he bemoaned their decision to blow up a chunk of the United States government. Running stealth missions was so much easier when every security agency in the country hadn’t just narrowly decided to not try you for treason.

Not that he actually regretted it, but some days he felt like he would kill for even the smallest bit of tactical support.

The truck jostled roughly as they left the highway, turning onto a dirt track marked by a no exit sign pockmarked with holes from buckshot. Sam grabbed ahold of the roof handle as they bounced over potholes, tires spitting up gravel as they sped along, a cloud of dust rising in their wake. A particularly large hole had Sam almost biting his tongue as his ass actually left his seat, and he grimly swore to himself that he didn’t care how it affected their cover, the next town they hit he was making Steve trade in this truck for a new one with actual suspension (and AC that worked). 

Both men were staring intently out of the front window when they finally emerged from the treeline, a large clearing suddenly opening up in front of them. At the end of the dirt track they could just make out a large farm house, almost completely obscured by the decaying barn in front of it. Painted on the roof and walls of the barn, in meter high letters, was ‘Hell is here’. Sam felt ice run down his spine, something about it making his stomach twist, though he and Steve had passed hundreds of signs just like it as they drove across the country. Steve slowed down, whether intentionally or not, as they drew nearer to the small collection of buildings in the centre of the field. That no one had come running out at them yet – or shot at them – boded well for the place being abandoned by whoever had written those words. Sam found himself again hoping for some crazy old white folks, because whether a warning or a promise, he didn’t want to know what Hydra would consider hell. Not after what they’d found at Three Sisters. 

Steve pulled to a stop right in front of the wide front porch, and they sat in silence.The only sounds were those of insects and birds and the steady clicking of the truck’s engine cooling. They stayed in the cab of the truck for a moment, both peering up at the house, checking for movement. There was none, other than a flicker of a curtain blowing through a broken window pane. Half the windows were boarded up, paint flaking from the walls, and the roof of the porch was sagging alarmingly. 

“Well,” Steve said, and Sam looked over at him to see the other man still staring up at the house. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, and climbed out of the truck, feet kicking up dust as he landed on the ground. They’d done this enough times now that they had established a pattern – a well-practiced dance. Steve left his shield in the truck – plausible deniability in case there were people around who weren’t Hydra – but both he and Sam tucked Glocks into the holsters on the back of their jeans. Both men tugged their shirts in unison as they rounded the truck and approached the farmhouse, making sure the tails of their shirts were covering their weapons. The porch let out loud groan when Steve stepped on it, causing him to freeze where he stood, one foot on the last step, one foot on the worn wood of the porch. Sam opened his mouth to–

“Not a fucking word,” Steve whispered, and Sam laughed silently. 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he said quietly as he stepped up onto the porch next to him. “Though I know for a fact you didn’t eat a big breakfast.” They hadn’t had breakfast at all actually, driving without stopping for half a day to get to this speck on the map before the sun set. They both paused, looking at the door, the boarded-up windows framing it. Sam sighed, stepping in front of Steve and ignoring his indignant huff of breath. He glanced at the uncapped wires sticking out of the wall where a doorbell might have once hung, before rapping his knuckles against the doorframe instead. The chirping of the cicadas kept them company as they waited. Sam strained his hearing for any sounds coming from within the house, though he knew Steve would catch anything long before he had any hope of hearing it. After several long minutes of silence, Steve gestured them forward, both men drawing their guns and moving in sync to enter into the silence of the house. The door creaked loudly as they opened it, making Sam wince as they lost any element of surprise they might have once had. Still, at least it wasn’t locked, and they made their way inside, quickly clearing the first floor. The space between Sam’s shoulder blades was itching, though they found no signs that anyone had been there for a couple months at least. There was graffiti on the walls of what used to be the living room, but which now only contained a threadbare couch along with empty bottles and cigarette butts. Even those were dusty, coated with the grime that was slowly seeping into every corner of the abandoned building.

Sam gestured to Steve, making it clear that he would be taking lead as they moved up the stairs, and Steve nodded his acquiescence. They cleared the upper floors as quickly as they’d cleared the first, the rooms empty but for the sand slowly accumulating in the corners, blown in where the boards didn’t quite meet the edges of the window frames. A couple of the rooms were so dark they were forced to pull out their flashlights, holding them next to the barrels of their guns as they swept the room. In one room, painted sunflower yellow, there was a doll lying face down, dress mouldering and hair half-gone, stolen by some animal to line its nest. It was amazing, Sam thought, looking down at it, how something so mundane, and something so cliché, could still unnerve him. The fact that the prickling feeling of being watched hadn’t faded at all didn’t help, even as they made their way back down the stairs. Steve found the door to the basement in the kitchen, and they cleared that next, the stale air smelling of mould and decay. The furniture and boxes shoved into that dark space carved out of the earth threatened to become something grotesque and monstrous as their flashlight beams swept over them, but nothing materialized out of the darkness. After checking and then double checking for any sort of secret entrance, they returned back to the first floor without incident. 

“Barn?” Sam asked as they paused in the kitchen. Steve shrugged. 

“Yes,” he said, but Sam could tell that he had already mentally categorized this farm as yet another dead end. Sam wanted to agree with him, but there was still something about the place that made his skin crawl and set his teeth on edge. Something that couldn’t be explained by anything they’d seen so far.

The porch once again groaned ominously under their feet as they stepped into the sunlight. Dry grass rustled against the legs of their jeans as they crossed the yard, the sun warm against Sam’s head. You could feel the temperature difference as they entered the shadow of the barn, and Sam couldn’t help but shiver as he looked up at the giant structure, noticing for the first time that the side facing the house also had words painted on the side.

“God has abandoned us”, Sam read aloud. 

“Jesus,” Steve said, looking up at the flaking black letters, and Sam huffed out a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m starting to feel like we’re in a really shitty B-rated horror movie.” Steve turned to him with a grin. 

“Well then, want to play the part of the dumb teenagers who enter the obviously haunted old building, while the audience screams at them to stop?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Wow Steve, please tell me more about how well you understood that reference.” Sam shook his head, walking towards the half-open doors of the barn. 

“Watch out Sam. The black guy always dies first,” Steve said quietly, easily catching up as Sam disappeared into the shadow of the entrance way. Sam flipped him off without looking, Steve’s quiet laughter trailing after him as he stepped into the barn.

“Yeah, unless the stupid white boy he’s with always insists on acting like a suicidal maniac at the first sign of danger,” Sam muttered under his breath as he took stock of his surroundings. The interior of the barn was fairly well-lit, largely thanks to the large gaps between the boards that made up the walls, and the holes in the ceiling where planks had collapsed.

“Shit,” he heard Steve say from behind him as he joined Sam inside the barn. “Think it’s gonna collapse on us?” 

“Just try and resist the urge to throw your frisbee around and we should be fine,” Sam said. 

“I left that in the truck, remember?” Steve said as he stepped around Sam to peer into the empty stall next to the door. 

“Right, yeah, we need to talk about that truck,” Sam said as he crossed the straw-covered floor to check the stall on the opposite side. 

“What’s wrong with the truck?” Steve asked. “It’s an American classic.”

“One,” Sam said, “no, it isn’t. Two, my ass is fucking bruised because that piece of shit has no fucking suspension. Plus the AC is broken. It’s August, Steve. August. In Georgia. I’m pretty sure this violates some sort of international law about torture.”

“It’s not that bad,” Steve said mildly, and Sam snorted his disagreement as he nudged at a pile of straw with his foot. The sound startled a pair of pigeons nesting in the rafters, and their guns swung up at the noise. They both watched as the birds circled the open space of the loft of the barn before settling back down. 

“Do you even know what that means? American classic?” Sam asked as they both reached the last stall in their rows. 

“No,” Steve admitted easily, “but Tash keeps referring to random shit as American classics just to fuck with me.” 

“How long did that take you to figure out?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Steve smiled back at him. 

“I’m not telling,” he said. 

“That long eh?” Sam laughed, walking across boards to join Steve in the centre of the room. “I don’t think there’s anything h-,” he started as he approached, but Steve held up a hand, frowning, and Sam froze, raising his gun, every sense in his body instantly screaming to full awareness as his eyes swept over their surroundings. After a long moment of silence, Steve cocked his head to the side. 

“Walk back a couple of steps,” he said, and Sam did, walking forward again when Steve beckoned him to. Steve stopped him at the same spot as before, walking over to join Sam. 

“Steve-” Sam started. 

“It’s hollow,” Steve interrupted, and Sam swallowed. Shit. It could be a root cellar, he told himself as he bent over to help Steve move the straw covering the wooden boards they were standing on. He knew it wasn’t though, knew even before Steve lifted the wooden trapdoor to reveal a steel one beneath it. His instincts had been saying it ever since they’d seen the barn and he knew that whatever they found beneath that steel door was just going to add another layer or terror to his nightmares. He watched as Steve crouched down, bracing himself as he curled his fingers around the edge of the metal, pulling it open with a teeth-grinding screech of metal rending. 

“Fuck,” Sam said with feeling as they both stared down the narrow circular tunnel plunging into the earth, a metal ladder anchored to the wall on one side. 

“I won’t be able to get the shield down there,” Steve said, eyeing the width of the circular opening in the earth, the maw waiting to swallow them both whole. 

“Will you even be able to fit your shoulders in there?” Sam asked, and Steve laughed as if Sam wasn’t completely serious. 

“Let’s get some more gear,” he said, and shoved the door back over the entrance so that he’d hear if someone tried to get out while they went back to the truck. Sam felt his stomach roll over in nausea as he thought about how narrow that tunnel was. There would be no room for them to maneuver if anyone came for them while they were going down, whether from above or below. 

“Steve…” he said, trailing off, knowing that the other man had noticed the same thing as he had. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. His lips turned white where they pressed together hard as he looked at Sam seriously. “We can drop a flare down, see how far it goes. If it’s not too far I can just jump straight down. If someone is waiting they won’t expect that.” 

“And if it’s too far for you to jump?” Sam asked. “Maybe… maybe we should call for backup.” 

“Someone’s still going to have to go down that hole first, eventually,” Steve said in a tone that Sam had come to both recognize and dread. 

“Yeah so why the fuck not have it be you,” Sam said. 

“Sam…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, waving his hand. “Drop the fucking flare, then we can argue about it.” 

They stripped efficiently, standing in the hot afternoon sunlight, dust rising in the air around them as they shuffled around in their underwear, pulling on their suits, Steve in the same stealth suit he’d worn when he was working for SHIELD, Sam in a white, red, and black suit modelled after Steve’s. Sam could feel sweat beginning to drip down his spine as he tightened the last straps of his uni- his suit (not a uniform, no matter how many times he almost called it that, because what organization would have them now?). Steve grabbed flares, and both men switched their flashlight batteries for new ones, as well as grabbing extra ammo and a Ka-Bar each. Sam glanced at the mic sewn into the left cuff of his sleeve, very aware, as he had been every time he and Steve did shit like this over the last however many months, that there was no backup for them. They could technically communicate with the Avengers through the mics Stark had installed in their suits – at the very least they could get ahold of Stark’s AI – but the chances of someone getting to them in time were small, so fucking small, smaller even than when Sam had been behind enemy lines in airspace that no chopper would ever dare enter. He raised his head to find Steve looking at him, and they shared a look of understanding before turning as one and heading back to the inside of the barn. The door hadn’t moved from where Steve had dragged it back into place – no surprise, since even if Sam hadn’t heard it, Steve certainly would have caught the sounds of anyone trying to move the warped steel. Steve grabbed the door with one hand, moving the plate, which probably weighed about 200lbs, with as much effort as Sam would use to move a bag of groceries. 

“Show-off,” Sam muttered under his breath, and though Steve didn’t respond Sam could see his smile as he bent over to peer down into the hole. Straightening, he pulled out a flare, lighting it. He shared a look with Sam over the flying sparks of the bright light, before releasing his grip on it. Both men leaned forward to watch as the red light fell, turning and tumbling into the darkness beneath them, growing smaller and smaller until it suddenly stopped. 

“Two stories,” Steve said.

“Fuck off,” Sam said, raising his head to look at Steve, who was already looking mulish. “Three at least. Maybe four.”

“Two,” Steve repeated. “And even it is four, I’ve jumped from that height before.” 

“Not straight down,” Sam argued. “Your fucking legs will shatter Steve, don’t be fucking stupid.” Steve’s expression twitched. 

“No, no, Ste-” Sam started, jerking forward, but it was too late. His fingers closed on nothing as his stupid fucking idiot of a friend stepped into empty air and was gone. “ _Fuck_ ,” Sam said with feeling, dropping to his knees and staring down into the darkness beneath him. The flare was gone, presumably obscured by Steve’s body, but who the fuck knew. A long, painful minute of silence passed, stretching out, and Sam swore he could feel every single beat of his heart beneath his skin as he waited. Then, blooming out of the darkness, the flare, and Steve’s stupid face looking up at him. The supersoldier grinned up at him, holding up two fingers. 

Sam was going to fucking murder him. 

Steve was going to have to wait for Sam to murder him though, as Sam took a moment to make sure that he had all of his equipment in place before turning and stepping down onto the first rung of the ladder. Sam kept a steady litany of complaints in his head as he climbed down, the ladder free of dust and rust in a way that Sam was trying to not to find significant, focusing instead on cursing out Steve in his head. It would be much more satisfying, he thought, if he could actually voice any of those once he got down to Steve, but shouting at the other man would definitely throw whatever element of surprise they might have straight out the window. 

It took him longer than he would have liked to climb down, the tunnel so narrow it was actually hampering his movements, forcing him to keep his arms bent at strange angles to keep his elbows tucked him, but finally he reached the bottom, jumping down the last few feet as soon as he cleared the entrance. Steve grinned at him as he turned to face the other man. Sam made sure to tell him just what he thought of Steve’s recklessness through several very creative hand gestures that had Steve biting down on his lip, trying not to laugh, before he turned to survey their surroundings. 

They were standing in a hallway that branched out in two directions from where they had entered. Aside from a small pile of dust and straw that had fallen down the shaft when they’d breached the facility, the hallway was spotless, walls, floor, and ceiling all the same smooth steel. There were no visible lights, other than the fading red glare of the flare in Steve’s hand. Sam looked over at Steve, pointing to the night vision goggles hanging around his neck, then to his flashlight. Steve bit his lip, and Sam knew that he was running over the same variables in his head as Sam was. On the one hand, if they proceeded without light, they would be able to maintain whatever element of surprise they retained. On the other, fighting in night vision goggles was a bitch. Aside from that, if no alarm had been raised over the course of them entering the property, exploring the house, and entering first the barn, then the tunnel, there was unlikely to be one coming; in all likelihood, the facility had been shut down. Finally, in the final dying glow of the flare, Steve held up his flashlight. Sam nodded his agreement, relieved that Steve had reached the same conclusion as him, sparing Sam the indignity of trying to conduct an argument through military hand signals. 

They clicked on their flashlights just as the flare flickered for one final time. Steve dropped the spent stick on the ground as Sam pulled a bioluminescent marker from his pocket, another gift from Stark. He drew a large ‘x’ on the wall beneath the tunnel they’d entered through, the small bacteria within the marker’s ink instantly adhering to the wall and beginning to glow a faint, steady green. Capping the pen, he turned back to Steve, who was looking back and forth between the two branches of the hallway. Both branches appeared to be identical, continuing straight for several hundred meters before turning. Steve turned to look at Sam, who shrugged, then pointed left. Steve shrugged back at him, and they both turned left, walking down the hallway slowly. Years of training had both of them making almost no noise as they padded down the metal hallway. 

The temperature in the facility was cool, especially compared to the heat outside, and Sam found himself shivering as he walked, sweat quickly drying on his skin. So far the facility wasn’t like any other Hydra base they’d found, not even the one at Three Sisters, and it was making Sam’s skin crawl. The few bases they’d found occupied had all been in cities, those discoveries usually a chaotic free-for-all as Sam, Steve, and sometimes Tasha would shut down the entire cell. Sam much preferred the abandoned ones they’d found, filled with dust and ancient computer modems. At least at the inactive ones he hadn’t been bitten while trying to pry a poison tooth out of one Hydra agent’s mouth while another shouted ‘hail Hydra’ over and over again while hitting him over the head with a keyboard. Seattle had been rough. 

They had also found two bases that weren’t abandoned or occupied, but destroyed by someone else long before Sam and Steve had stumbled across them. All that was left of those bases had been twisted metal and ash. Steve had confessed to Sam, after the second one, that he kept hoping to find some sign of Barnes having been the one to destroy the bases. He’d sighed, looking up at the ceiling of their hotel room. 

“I just want to know that he’s still out there,” he’d said, and Sam had twitched with a possibility he hadn’t even considered yet. He’d wondered then, and now, which would be worse – for Barnes to be still out there somewhere, a ghost in the wind, or for him to already be dead.

Abandoned, occupied, or destroyed, no base had revealed anything to them about Barnes’ past, or where he might be now. They had also largely looked like what they were – offices, labs, or armouries. The facility they were in now, however, had yet to given them any indication of what it might have been used for, and Sam found himself wondering if this was a Hydra base at all, or if they hadn’t stumbled into something else altogether. The hallway smelled strange, stale air mixing with the strong scent of metal. There was something else too, something just below that. Every time Sam thought he’d caught it, it would drift away, leaving him unable to identify what it was. At first he’d thought it was sweet, but the second time it had smelled more like something rotting. It never lasted long enough for him to figure it out. 

“Do you smell something?” He finally asked Steve under his breath as they approached what Sam could now see was thankfully just a turn in the hallway, and not another branch. Sam glanced over just in time to catch Steve looking back at him, just for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, frustration obvious in his voice as he returned his attention to the hallway before them. “I just can’t… I can’t quite figure out what it is. I can’t pin it down.” Sam nodded. 

“It’s sweet?” he said. “Or rotting? Maybe?” 

“Both?” Steve said hesitantly. “Like… like how the crates of fruit would smell by the docks in the summer.” Sam was stopped from replying to Steve as they arrived at the bend in the hallway. Sam gestured, Steve nodded, and Sam positioned himself against the wall, directly before the turn. He counted down in his head, three, two, one… and Steve threw himself across the hallway, hitting the wall on the other side, gun pointing down the hallway as Sam slid around the corner, gun raised to provide covering fire. After a long minute of scanning the hallway in front of them, they both cautiously relaxed from their tense stances. The hallway remained the same after the turn, empty, featureless, and pitch black. The amount of time spent seeing only with the beam of the flashlight was beginning to make Sam twitchy, his brain convinced that there was always something moving just outside of his field of vision. He knew the paranoia was natural for the circumstances, but it didn’t make it any less awful as he had to fight the urge to continuously jerk his flashlight around to his blind spots. 

It was when they had travelled several meters down the new hallway that Sam noticed something appearing out of the darkness ahead of them. 

“Steve?” He asked.

“Yeah, I see it,” Steve said, both of them pointing their flashlights at the floor for a moment to confirm that the faint light in front of them was indeed emitting from something else. As they slowly approached, the light coalesced into a rectangular shape, light leaking around the edges of a closed door. They glanced at each other, before Sam once again took the position of providing cover fire, since Steve was, as he often pointed out, far better able to survive being shot than Sam was. After a count of three, Steve burst through the door Sam swinging in after him, sweeping the room. Sam’s eyes scanned half the room before he stopped, frozen. They were standing in a white square of a room, steadily lit from above with glowing ceiling panels that left no room for shadows. In the centre, was a glass cube, and inside that, a little kid, hunched over and facing away from them. 

“Fuck,” he heard Steve say, and Sam lowered his gun, stepping forward cautiously, gesturing for Steve to remain where he was. The smell that they’d been guessing at before was obvious here, thick and cloying. Steve had been right, it did smell like rotting fruit. 

“Hey,” he said, making his voice soft. “Are you okay? My name’s Sam.” The boy twitched at the sound of Sam’s voice, and Sam took another cautious step forward. “What’s your name?” he asked, and the boy turned. Sam froze. 

“My name’s Sam,” said the boy, who wore Sam’s face from when he was five years old, so familiar from the photos that lived on his Ma’s mantle. Sam’s eyes had never been pitch black though, and he fought the urge to shiver as a wave of cold dread washed over him, every instinct in his body telling him to run, to disappear, to escape the predator standing in front of him. And that was what it was, whatever it was. It sure wasn’t any little boy that blinked up at Sam from that glass cube. “What’s the matter?,” it said, and Sam took a stumbling step backwards. Suddenly Steve was at his elbow, touching his fingers lightly to Sam’s arm. 

“Sam? What’s wrong?” he asked, and then glanced up and froze. Sam glanced back at the cage to see the thing that looked like a child smiling up at Steve. 

“Wow wow wow,” it said. “Aren’t you just…” it paused, looking Steve up and down, licking it’s lips, and Sam’s skin crawled with instinctive revulsion. “Neat,” it finally finished, and Sam realized that he’d grabbed ahold of Steve’s arm at some point without even noticing. 

“What are you?” Steve asked, and Sam had no idea how he found the ability to speak without his voice shaking. 

“What kind of a question is that to ask a lady?,” the thing asked, taking a step to the side and suddenly it was a woman pacing around the perimeter of its glass cage, curly brown hair pinned up in a retro wave, red lips curving up in a smile that was just a hair too wide to be natural. She looked familiar, and after a moment Sam realized he was looking at Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD, from back when Steve would have first known her. A glance at Steve confirmed that the other man was staring, shellshocked, at the ghost from his past. 

“What are you?” Sam repeated, finding it easier to speak now that he wasn’t looking at a nightmare version of his childhood self. The thing’s eyes flicked back to Sam, and it grinned impossibly wide. 

“I am something you cannot comprehend, Samuel Wilson. Do not hurt yourself trying to.” Sam thought he was going to throw up, or maybe pass out, with how hard every instinct he had was telling him to run from the room. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked. The thing turned back to him. 

“Hydra thought they could control me.” It tilted its head. “Parents always think the can control their children, even though that’s never been true.”

“Could they?” he asked, and the thing laughed, a noise like metal tearing, like dry leaves rustling, like bones snapping. It raised its arms, perfectly manicured nails gesturing to the empty room around them. 

“What do you think?” it asked. 

“So they locked you up down here?” Sam asked. It looked at him, making a considering, humming noise that Sam could feel in his lungs. 

“I miscalculated,” it said, and suddenly the room was covered in blood and gore, the walls dripping with it as the space echoed with the pained screams of humans being rended limb from limb. Sam stumbled back in shock, and then, just as suddenly, the room was white again. Before either of them had time to recover, the thing looked up at the ceiling, which bubbled and popped, human bones raining down. Sam raised his arms to protect his head, but the bones fell in a circle around him, hitting the ground and slowly sinking down into the floor like it was a particularly thick and viscous liquid and not solid steel. The final bone disappeared, and there was nothing but silence left in the room.

“You’re trapped,” Sam said, the realization striking him as he raised his head. The thing paced back and forth the length of it’s cage. “You killed them all, but you’re still trapped.” The thing snarled, taking a step towards Sam and suddenly it was Riley staring back at him, lip raised and twisted. Sam flinched back, only just managing to stop himself from actually taking a step backwards. As quickly as it had angered, it stood down, smiling at Sam and Steve. 

“Perhaps,” it said, “but now you’re here, and you will free me.” 

“Why would we do that?” Steve asked, at the same time that Sam spoke, “Like hell we will.” The thing’s smile widened, and then it was a grubby little boy, scabby knees and wild black hair. 

“Steve,” it said. “Steve, I’m scared.” If Sam had thought Steve looked shocked before, it was nothing to how he looked now, face white as a sheet as he stared down at the boy. Sam glanced back at the boy and yeah, that was almost definitely Bucky Barnes as a kid and _fuck_ but Sam didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t want this to be happening, didn’t want to have to watch the way Steve’s face crumpled as it continued to speak. “Why did you abandon me Steve? You left me all alone, and it was so so cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, almost by accident, like the words were being torn from his mouth against his will.

“They hurt me Stevie, hurt me so bad and for so long. I waited for you to rescue me, you know. Like I always rescued you.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated, sounding shattered, and Sam couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand this. 

“It’s not real–” he started, but the thing in the cage spoke over him, not looking away from Steve who was staring back at him, caught in it’s gaze. 

“You never came. You left me there to die. But they wouldn’t let me.” The thing started to cry, and Sam watched in horror as Steve stumbled forward a couple of helpless steps, hands held up in front of himself as if to ward off the things it was saying. “Why didn’t you rescue me Steve? Why did you let them hurt me? Why didn’t you free me?” 

“Steve–” Sam wasn’t sure what he was going to say, didn’t know what he could possibly say to try and talk his friend down. He abruptly cut himself off, though, when he noticed what exactly Steve was walking towards – a barely visible touchpad, glowing slightly against the rest of the glass of the cage.

“Fuck!” He swore, jerking forward on legs that had gone half numb with adrenaline. He stumbled, but still managed to shove into Steve’s shoulder. Steve, completely focused on the boy in the cage, was taken totally by surprise by the unexpected force of Sam shoving into him from the side. Reacting instinctively, Steve pushed Sam away from him as he stepped back into a fighting stance. Sam registered the feeling of his back hitting the glass and the hiss of a seal opening at almost the exact same time, in just enough time to spin and see as the door of the cage slid back its final few inches. The thing looked out through the open door in surprise, as if it had never expected that they would actually release it. 

“You have freed me Sam Wilson,” it said, still looking out the door towards its freedom rather than at either of the men in the room. Between one blink and the next it became Sam’s sister, exactly as she’d looked the last time he’d seen her, eleven months ago, and Sam felt a deep swell of terror reaching up to crush his ribs. “And so I will give you the key to Winter’s salvation.” Sam blinked, thrown, and it turned to look at him, before moving to close the distance between them almost faster than Sam could track. It stopped, inches from his face, and Sam’s eyes widened in surprise as the thing grinned, showing far more teeth than could ever possibly fit in a human mouth. Sam could see himself reflected in its liquid black eyes as it leaned forward, placing its head next to Sam’s. 

“Remember,” a hot breath ghosted across Sam’s ear and he was paralyzed, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run as he fought to even twitch a finger. “Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat’. Rassvet. Pech. Devyat’. Dobroserdechnyy. Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin. Gruzovoy vagon.” And then it was gone, disappearing out into the hallway with barely a whisper of sound to mark its departure. 

Sam sagged, and Steve let out a choked gasp, dropping to his knees. 

“Fuck,” Steve said with feeling, and Sam nodded his agreement. Steve leaned back on his heels, wiping sweaty hair away from his face with a hand that Sam could see was trembling from half the room away. 

“I fucking hate Hydra,” Sam said, following Steve’s example and sitting down before he fell down. “Fucking Nazi bastards.” 

“What the fuck,” Steve started, but he didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence, how to encapsulate everything that had just happened, so he ended up just gesturing slightly helplessly before letting his hands fall back to his lap.

“I don’t even know man.”

“What was that?” Steve asked. Sam didn’t think that particularly deserved an answer as he leaned against the wall of the now-empty glass cube and waited for the world to start making a little bit of sense again. It was several long minutes before either of them felt capable of movement again, but eventually Steve pushed himself to his feet and Sam, groaning, followed suit. They headed over to the door, redrawing their guns as they reached the exit back into the hallway. Both men hesitated, however, once they reached the entryway.

“Do we still have to clear the rest of the facility?” Steve asked, and Sam snorted as if he hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing. “Yeah,” Steve said, voice wry, “I guess we do.” They exited the room, Sam closing the door behind them and marking the wall next to it with the bioluminescent pen. They continued down the hallway, both returning to their previous positions, guns and flashlights drawn as the warm glow of the room quickly faded behind them and the pitch-black emptiness of the hallway swallowed them up. 

They hadn’t walked far before they found another door. This one had no lights emitting from it, and Sam thought that if they were less on edge, they might have missed it, as the edges of the door blended almost exactly with the surrounding steel. Still, they did pick it out, and, after several expressive hand gestures, Steve took point as they pushed the door open and entered the space beyond it. 

Like the hallway, and unlike the room with the cage, this room was not lit, except for a large, lightly glowing rectangle along one wall. Sam ignored it until they had successfully cleared the room. Letting his curiosity take hold of him, he took a couple of steps closer to the wall. It took a moment before he suddenly realized what he was looking at – a one-way mirror opening out into the room with the cage. 

“This is for observation,” Sam said, surprised. “They were observing this thing. Why? To make sure if didn’t get too powerful?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, his voice accompanied by the rustling of paper and Sam turned to see him flipping through some of the papers scattered across the handful of desks that were spread across the room in a haphazard approximation of rows. In the beam of his flashlight, Sam was able to see as Steve bent over, squinting and poking at one of the computers. “How the fuck do you turn this on?” he asked, and Sam knew he was probably just playing up his technical ineptitude to make Sam relax a bit, but damn if it didn’t work. Sam laughed quietly as he crossed the room. 

“Move aside grandpa,” he said, hip-checking Steve, who went easily, and yeah, there was the smile that said he thought he was getting away with something. Unlike other people (Tony) Sam knew that Steve was actually really good at picking up unfamiliar technologies. Sam wasn’t sure if Steve realized that Sam knew he was faking it or not, but either way, the old man jokes were always funny. 

Sam found the power button easily enough, and he was slightly surprised when he pushed it and the computer wheezed to life. He frowned down at it as the screen began to glow and the startup screen appeared. 

“Huh,” Steve said, and Sam nodded. 

“I wasn’t sure that would work,” he said. “I mean, that one room has light but… why isn’t anything else on?” Sam felt more than saw Steve shrug. It wasn’t long before the computer was finished starting up. The password screen popped up, and Sam sighed, slumping slightly in his seat. He stared at the glowing blue screen for a long moment before his eyes drifted down to a faded yellow post-it stuck to the bottom of the monitor. 

“Jesus,” he said, picking it up and sticking it next to the keyboard. Typing the string of numbers and letters into the box on the screen, Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes when the computer chimed as it accepted the password. Massive secret evil Nazi organization, defeated by a lazy office worker. 

When the screen finally resolved itself into a desktop complete with a background of rolling green fields, Sam began clicking around the computer’s files. Steve left him to it, going back to flipping through the paper files, flashlight held in his teeth in a way that made Sam feel a bit nauseous in sympathy (could supersoldier teeth still break? Would they heal?). The files contained a lot of the usual Hydra garbage, familiar enough to Sam at this point that he was able to easily scan through the files. He was always so thankful he no longer needed to read every file to determine if there was something useful within them. Both men worked in silence for several long minutes, quickly scanning through the information stored in this particular facility. It was as he was nearing the last of the files that Sam found something that made him pause. 

“Project M,” he said aloud, and Steve snorted without looking up from his files. 

“They just get more and more creative,” he said dryly, and Sam smiled as he double clicked on the file. He began lightly scanning the page then stopped, frowning and scrolling back up before beginning again, reading far more closely. 

“Huh,” he heard Steve say, but he was far too focused on what he was reading to pay attention to the other man, at least until Steve began reading aloud.. 

“Project M,” he said, “was created in response to the incident at the White House in 1973, and the revelation of the powers possessed by the mutant known as Mystique. The project remained entirely theoretical until 2004, when Hydra managed to acquire subjects 1A, 1B, and 1C. The project had moderate success with subject 1C, who was testing positively prior to it’s self-termination at sixteen months (see Appendix D for the complete reports on 1C). Subjects 1A and 1B were ultimately categorized as failures (see Appendix B for the complete reports on 1A’s complete biological deterioration, and Appendix C for the complete reports on the decision to terminate subject 1B).” Steve paused, taking a deep breath. 

“Steve,” Sam started, because he could go the rest of his life without having to read or hear any more detailed reports on human testing and it wouldn’t be long enough. Whether or not Steve heard him, he didn’t speak again right away, silently scanning the pages. Sam glanced back to the computer screen. He had a different report open than the one that Steve was reading from, but it was obviously from the same project. He read a couple of lines almost without meaning to before swallowing harshly. 

“Steve,” he said again, clearing his throat, and this time the other man looked up at him, something dark and angry and sorrowful in his eyes. Sam looked back at his screen. “Subject 2A has demonstrated significant positive improvements since its acquisition in 2011,” he read aloud, glancing back at Steve to see the other man now completely focused on him. “The surgical trials conducted through the months of September, October, and November of 2012 produced a significant improvement in the subject’s telepathic abilities, enabling it to project vivid hallucinations into other’s minds. Despite an attempt to self-terminate in December of 2012, the subject is largely compliant, and responds well to disciplinary measures.”

“Don’t,” Steve said, and Sam didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t need to see what was written on the other man’s face. 

“It was a mutant,” he said, voice flat. Steve’s hand coming down on his shoulder made him flinch, but he still leaned into the solid, warm weight of the other man, anchoring him. 

“They just… abandoned this place,” Steve said, and Sam glanced up to see him staring towards the one-way mirror. He looked back down at the computer, the logs that he’d read when he first opened it suddenly provoking an intense wave of nausea and anger. 

“They shut down the project after Insight fell,” Sam said. “It’s in the logs. The scientists couldn’t bring… them with them, so they just left on the biological monitoring systems so Hydra could at least record the data of how long they took to die.”

“Fuck,” Steve said with feeling, and Sam let himself slump into solid press of Steve’s hip against his shoulder for a moment, before he stood up. 

“You need to check anymore files?” he asked Steve, an intense feeling of relief sweeping through him when the other man shook his head. “Great,” he said. “Let’s finish clearing this facility so we can burn this motherfucker down.”

It turned out that there wasn’t much more to clear - the facility seemed to be dedicated solely to Project M. There was something horrifically mundane about clearing a locker room, bathrooms, and a cafeteria, along with a handful of other offices. The reminder that the people who worked at the facility, that worked for Hydra, were people with lives and presumably human emotions but who still chose to work for Hydra wasn’t one that Sam ever enjoyed. The surgery was still the worst part of the facility however, though it was as clean and pristine as if it had never been used. The sight of the clean instruments, scalpels and saws and long metal rods, laid out in neat rows, made Sam feel as though at any minute a Hydra scientist might walk through the door and pick right up where they had left off. Still, as they rounded a corner and caught sight of a faint beam of light, a glowing ‘x’ on the wall beneath it, Sam was just grateful they hadn’t found any other test subjects. 

He was feeling a bit frantic as he climbed the last few meters out of the tunnel, the claustrophobically small space made near unbearable by everything that they’d seen underground. When he stepped out he immediately stumbled over to the entrance of the barn, distantly aware of the sounds of Steve exiting the tunnel behind him as he closed his eyes against the wind. They had been underground long enough that the sun was fading, but even its setting beams felt like a balm on Sam’s soul, and something small and knotted unfurled slightly within him as he stood there, swaying slightly and listening to the chirp of insects in the field. He finally opened his eyes when he felt Steve stand next to him, feeling belatedly relieved to see that their truck was still parked in front of the house, and the mutant hadn’t stolen it. 

“I think we’re going to have to call Tash,” Steve said. “We don’t have any explosives with us that’ll be able to deal with the fact that most of what’s down there is steel and concrete.” Sam nodded. 

“Nick will probably send his team he thinks we don’t know about,” he said, and Steve laughed a bit, shaky but still there. 

“Probably,” he said, nudging Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he said, and Sam sighed but turned to follow him back into the darkness of the barn, picking up the few pieces of equipment they’d left lying around on the barn floor as he watched Steve place the door back over the black hole in the floor. Grabbing the edges, he squeezed, and Sam winced at the familiar scream of bending metal as Steve forced the door to close.

“Well that should hold it until someone else gets here,” Sam said dryly as Steve stood back up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah,” Steve said with a smile. Sam handed him back his flashlight. 

“C’mon,” he said. “I really, really fucking need a beer.” Steve laughed, and followed him back outside. As they pulled back out onto the highway, leaving the barn and house and that godforsaken facility behind them, his thoughts returned to the mutant they’d freed, however inadvertently. He hoped that whatever Hydra had done to them, that they were able to recover and make a life for themselves. He felt a brief twinge of guilt that they hadn’t done more to help them, even though he knew that there wasn’t anything that they could have done. The last words they’d spoken came floating back into Sam’s head. 

He couldn’t remember what they had said, exactly, but he was pretty sure it’d been Russian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [Kings and Queens of Summer by Matstubs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqw9GSjyaUM).


	2. I'm trying to keep still

Sam’s not surprised when it happens. Even if Steve didn’t put any sort of parameters or end date on their ghost hunt when it started – probably never would put any on it, to be honest, if it was just up to him – Sam always knew that at some point, the world would need Captain America back again. It did take longer than he thought it would though. Maybe the world still wasn’t over the sight of the helicarriers falling, of the Black Widow testifying on their actions in front of Congress. Maybe there was too many people who saw Steve as a harbinger of destruction rather than a saviour, who watched his fights with the Winter Soldier on the streets of DC and his point-blank refusal, afterwards, to talk to anyone, politician or press, about who exactly the man on the bridge was, and wondered. Sam wondered what he would have thought, if he was outside of it, of Steve’s refusal to talk about the assassin that had almost killed him. No one had said the word ‘traitor’ but sometimes, when Sam and Steve watched the evening news together, Sam could almost hear it anyways. It threaded beneath the words of pundits and politicians alike and Sam wondered if one day Steve would do something that would be one step too far for them, and it would no longer be hidden. 

The first time Sam had met Steve he hadn’t even had time to be starstruck by meeting _Captain America_ before Steve was being a fucking asshole and ‘on your left’ing Sam. He’d still had an idea in his head, though, of who Captain America was. Of who Steve Rogers was. It hadn’t taken long for Steve to tear that idea to pieces, of course, and each day since had washed away more pieces of the legend. For the rest of America though, their idea of Steve Rogers still came from history books and propaganda. It didn’t help that right after Steve came out of the ice he’d been too disoriented and, to be honest, (and Sam always was, at least when it came to this sort of thing), traumatized to argue with anyone. That passivity had resulted in, amongst other things, a hilarious set of videos for schools that Sam brought up as much as he possibly could, and a lasting impression upon the public of a polite, quiet man out of time, a loyal patriot. A soldier. 

And a soldier always answered the call to war. 

In the end, it didn’t matter what Steve wanted or who he really was, because almost fourteen months after Sam and Steve disappeared together to start chasing shadows, Steve’s phone rang. Even before Steve hung up and turned back to Sam, something between relief and agony warring on his face, Sam knew it was over, at least for now. They packed, checked that they’d taken everything out of their current hotel room, and then got in the little four-door sedan they’d been driving and took a back highway out to a small airfield in some forgotten corner of northeast Arizona. Sam wasn’t sure how he felt, as he and Steve leaned against the side of the car, watching as a quinjet descended. The abrupt ending of Steve and Sam’s Roadtrip of American Horrors had left him feeling like he’d been abruptly unmoored, set afloat from something that he hadn’t even realized he was tied to. Steve kept telling him they were just taking a break, just until Steve took care of this one thing, but Sam knew that even if they came back together, even if they reunited to track down more Hydra bases and look in what were becoming increasingly fewer hiding spots for the Winter Soldier, that it would be different. This part of Sam’s life was over, and it wasn’t until he was outside of it that he had begun to realize just how wrapped up he had been in the solitary world they’d created between the two of them in their hunt for Barnes. 

Steve went back to New York and the newly rebranded Avengers Tower and, without anything else to do, Sam got on a train to Harlem. From the outside, the brownstone looked the same as it had since his parents had brought him home from the hospital, though he knew inside it bore signs of the years that had passed, from the marks on the kitchen walls showing the growth of the three kids that Darlene had raised in that house, to the upstairs bathroom that his Uncle John had completely renovated the year after Sam’s dad died. Staring up at the old building, Sam took a deep breath, bracing himself. After fourteen months of sparse phone calls and never being able to tell her where he was, what he was doing, or why he was doing any of it at all, he really wasn’t looking forward to having to look his mother in the eye as he repeated all of his excuses over again.

“I could fucking kill you,” she said when she opened the door to find her eldest son standing on the step, looking sheepish and asking, since all his stuff was in her basement, did she mind if he came and stayed with her for a bit? After attempting to follow through on that threat by smothering him in a hug, she ushered him inside, leading him into the kitchen. Sarah was at the table. Sam was a bit surprised to see her – she had stayed in Atlanta for the last two summers and last he’d heard, had planned to do the same this year. He guessed she must have decided to come home from Spelman for the summer after all. He ignored the twinge in his gut that suggested that it might have been for their mom, because of Sam. Because he had disappeared from sight for over a year. Sarah looked up from playing with the child sitting on the table in front of her when Sam entered the room. She brought the baby with her when she stood, crossing the room to stand in front of Sam. In a great display of restraint, Sarah did not hug him, ignoring his outstretched arms in favour of smacking the side of his head, calling him an idiot, and handing him Jody, who had somehow managed to grow into a toddler when Sam was off running around the country. 

“Hey,” Sam said, looking into the dark brown eyes of his brother’s second child and bouncing her slightly. “At least you’re happy to see me, right?” Jody burbled happily at him, before getting a slightly pained look on her face, leaning forward, and puking on the front of his shirt. 

“Oh come on,” Sam said as Sarah and his mother both burst out into laughter. 

Later, cleaned of baby puke, Sam sat at the kitchen table, poking at old scars in the wood with the tip of his finger. He was avoiding making eye contact with his mother, who was standing by the sink, staring at her son as she smoked her habitual evening cigar. This was the part of going home that had made Sam want to find an excuse, any excuse, to avoid it, even with as much as he loved his family. Because his mother was going to ask, again, why, and Sam, again, wasn’t going to be able to give her an answer that would make her happy. Plus he would then have to follow that up by telling her oh yeah, by the way, I’m going to keep working with a guy who thinks that parachutes are optional.

“Sam,” she started, sighing when she saw the way her son tensed up at the sound of his name. “I know you don’t want to have this conversation again,” she said. “I feel like we’ve had it about a hundred times since you enlisted.” 

“So how about we skip it this time Ma,” Sam said, dragging an exhausted hand down his face. 

“I just want my baby to be safe,” Darlene said, and Sam hated the way pain laced her words. “I was already scared Sam, but after what happened to Riley…” 

“I don’t want to talk about Riley right now, Ma,” Sam said, voice softer than he meant it to be and fuck, why couldn’t he ever talk about this with her. He’d told Steve the entire story no problem. Every time Riley came up around his Ma though, it was like he was shoved back in time, the pain suddenly brand new again. He could almost see the ghost of himself, years younger, standing in this very kitchen, rubbed raw with grief and sobbing into his mom’s shoulder. Maybe it was just that she had known, better than anyone else, what Riley meant to him. His mom nodded. 

“I know, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna make you. I talked to his Mama the other day, they’re doing good. Davis is graduating high school this year.”

“Yeah, I talked to her about a month ago,” Sam said. 

“You been to see him yet?” She asked, and Sam shook his head. 

“I told you Ma, I just got back and came straight here. I’ll go see him sometime this week,” he said. Darlene nodded. 

“The florist on the corner has sunflowers right now,” she said. “I was in there this morning getting flowers for Janna, next door, her wife just had twins. They’re lovely, you should get him some.” Sam felt an ache in his chest at the reminder of how well his Ma had known Riley. That she still remembered what his favourite flower was. 

“Thanks Ma,” Sam said. Darlene took a drag of her cigar, eyeing her son. 

“I don’t like that you can’t tell me what you’re doing,” she finally said. “At least when you were with the Air Force I knew there were systems in place to let me know-” her voice broke a bit, but she continued with the same strength Sam had been looking up to her for his whole life. “-let me know if you’d died. Now, you’re off running around with Captain America of all people, and I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing.” 

“I’m helping Ma,” Sam said. “I know that isn’t good enough, but it’s what I have. It’s important, what we’re doing.” 

“After all that stuff that happened in DC. Everything that got put on the internet,” Darlene said, looking over at Sam’s shoulder, ignoring what he’d said. Sam felt a familiar exasperation rising within him as his mother continued to speak. “So many people saying that Captain America is a traitor.”

“Ma,” he said, and she waved her hand at him, staving off whatever else he might say. 

“I know, I know baby. I’ve never listened to what people have had to say, and I’m not about to start now. I just don’t understand why you’ve got to do this.” 

“I just do, Ma.” Darlene gave her son an intense look, the one that always had Sam feeling like she knew every single bad thing he’d ever done. 

“You in love with this boy?” she asked, and Sam choked on air. “Because sweetheart, I’ve gotta say, you and these white boys, it’s-”

“I’m not in love with him,” Sam interrupted her, voice louder than he meant it to be. Darlene grinned at him, and he glared at her. “I’m not, Ma. It’s not like Riley okay. Not at all. It’s…” he trailed off, scrubbing his hands down his face again. “It’s not like that. It’s about… it’s not about who he is, or it is, but not like that, it’s… fuck Ma, I can’t explain it.”

“Watch your mouth,” she said mildly, and Sam barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at her. “I still don’t understand why Captain America felt the need to drag you into his mess. Not when you were finally doing so much better.” 

“I think you can call him Steve, Ma,” Sam said, ignoring everything else she’d said. “I’ve been basically living with him for the past year.” Darlene pursed her lips together. 

“Until he stops dragging my son into his superhero nonsense, he’ll stay Captain America,” she said, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Fair enough,” he said, “but Ma. He’ll be Captain America to you for a long time then.” Darlene held his eyes for a long moment before letting out a long sigh, turning to stub out her cigar. 

“I know baby. I wish it wasn’t true, but it’s who you are. You just gotta help people.” She came around the table, bending over to kiss the side of Sam’s head. He closed his eyes as her familiar smell washed over him, cigars and laundry detergent and _home_. “I love you,” she said. 

“I love you too, Ma.” She began to leave the kitchen, but paused in the doorway. 

“At least stick around for a couple of weeks?” she asked. “See your grandma?” 

“I will, Ma,” Sam promised and it was only after she left that he realized that she already knew he was leaving again. Sam hadn’t even known himself, not until that moment. He’d spent the last week thinking about it, and kept telling himself it was over. He wasn’t going back out without Steve, and he wasn’t going to join the Avengers while he waited. Beneath all that logic though, beneath all that pretense about returning to civilian life, he had already known that he was going back to looking for Barnes, Steve or no Steve. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that his Ma had seen it before he was even aware of it. She’d always been able to read him. He just hoped that everyone else in his family would be so understanding. 

(They weren’t, but he left two weeks later anyways, a bag of his favourite cookies in his duffle courtesy of his Ma, an admonishment from Sarah to call more, and a voicemail from Steve saying he wouldn’t be able to leave New York for a couple of months at least).

Going back on the road without Steve was strange. Much like Sam hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being part of a two-man team, always having each other’s backs, until he started travelling with Steve, he hadn’t realized how accustomed to it he’d become until it was suddenly gone. He missed Steve’s presence, missed his stupid jokes and his weird grandpa stories about his life growing up, missed the solid assurance of having him at his side as they made their way back and forth across America. Steve still made sure to check in with Sam all the time, because of course he did, but it wasn’t the same. Even the couple of times that he’d met up with Tash to take down a Hydra base (which was both awesome and totally terrifying) couldn’t quite shake his feeling of unease about continuing without Steve. Maybe it was just because of how personal Steve’s connection to Barnes was, he thought to himself. It probably definitely wasn’t because Sam was terrified that he’d find Barnes on his own. Probably. 

It ended up not mattering anyways, since every lead turned out to be colder than the last one. Three months after he had hit the road without Steve, Sam still hadn’t been able to catch hide or hair of the elusive ghost of Steve’s best friend. When he actually found an operational Hydra base he would call up Tash to help him destroy the facility. On one memorable occasion that had almost resulted in him getting blown up, she had been out of the country and Nick had sent Clint his way instead (anyone who had ever called Sam reckless had clearly never worked with Clint Barton). Other than that, however, he was a one-man operation. He was busy feeling adrift and alone (and yet strongly resistant to everyone’s suggestions that he return to New York) when he heard from Nick. The dead man’s voice echoed down the phone line as he explained that there was a rumour of a Hydra base in the Swiss Alps that deserved exploring, and that he needed someone with a clean passport to get into the country and do it. Sam was agreeing to it before he’d even completely thought it through, and by the time he did he was in Bern, the plane was taxiing down the tarmac, and it was too late for him to change his mind. Still, he thought to himself as he looked out the tiny airplane window at the unfamiliar airport. How bad could it be? 

The Swiss, it turned out, largely spoke English, and Sam tucked away his little guidebook with equal measures disappointment and relief. After spending the night in Bern, he managed to rent a small car without much trouble, and was feeling cautiously optimistic about the whole thing, until he got to the point where he had to actually drive the fucking thing through the mountains, at which point he started to curse Nick Fury to hell and back again. 

“Seriously man?” he said to himself as he jerkily downshifted. He was doing his best to coax the car down the narrow mountain road, which seemed to oscillate between ninety degrees downward and ninety degrees upward. He’d become convinced, a couple times, that this wasn’t even a road and he was, in fact, driving off-road through the alps in a piece-of-shit European car. Despite multiple times checking and double checking, however, the annoyingly chipper GPS lady kept assuring him this was the right road. Sam swore to God, if there wasn’t a Hydra base at the end of this, he was going to lose it. At the very least, there needed to be a Hydra outpost. Safehouse. Rock with the Hydra symbol painted on it. _Something_.

A goat stared at him from the side of the road as the car’s clutch let out a horrible squealing noise before settling into second gear. At least, Sam thought to himself miserably, the country was incredibly small. Though his destination was ostensibly the middle of nowhere, it was still only a six hour drive. Though, now that he was becoming aware of just how small and charmingly guardrail-free the mountain roads were, that six hours was beginning to look like a bit of an optimistic number. He’d left the nice, well-maintained main highway behind several hours ago, and had slowly been losing his mind ever since. He also hadn’t seen any signs of civilization since the town about half an hour off the highway and he was beginning to find it slightly disconcerting. He supposed it made logical sense that a secret Hydra base in the Swiss Alps would be, y’know, isolated, but the lack of other people was beginning to make his skin crawl.

The sun was just beginning to set when everything went to shit. The stretch of road that Sam was on had widened out a bit, and he was feeling much better about his chances of avoiding a messy death by plunging off the side of the mountain when he felt more than heard something in the ground _shift_. A deeply instinctual fear gripped his entire body, but he barely had enough time to wonder what had just happened when a distant echoing crack reached his ears, followed by a rumbling noise that sent tremors down his arms. He glanced down at the car dash to confirm that yeah, it wasn’t just him, the car was shaking too, and so were the trees outside of the window. He looked up at the mountain. There was something moving on the slope above him, strange movements that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense for an animal or machine. 

It wasn’t until the first rock crashed onto the hood of Sam’s car that he realized what he was looking at, and by then, it was too late. The rocks started thudding off the roof of the car, shattering on the road in front of him. He glanced behind him to see if he could reverse just in time to watch a giant boulder smash into the road right behind his car, the giant mass of stone lit an ominous red by his taillights. Turning forward, Sam didn’t let himself think too much about it as he slammed down the gas pedal, shifting through gears as fast as he could. The car accelerated with a loud squeal of protest. There was a solid wash of smaller stones pinging off the front window of the car as it sped up, the dust kicked up by the mountain sliding down obscuring his vision. He had no idea where the road was as the car moved faster and faster through the falling earth, large rocks barely missing him again and again. His luck had to come to an end eventually however, and a few second later, a large boulder finally made contact, crushing the back half of the car. Ma was right, he thought to himself as his entire body jerked back and forth between the seatbelt and the seat behind him. There wasn’t going to be anyone to tell her, no one who even knew where he was. The force and velocity of the boulder sent the car spinning, dust turning the world into a grey blur as the sound of stone grinding together and metal sparking off rock filled the air. A rock hit the driver’s side window, and it exploded inwards, chunks of safety glass raining down on Sam. There was a moment when the entire world was tumbling and Sam couldn’t tell which way was up or down, before the car hit something with a jarring thud, throwing him forward, his forehead bouncing off of the steering wheel. The airbags deployed a moment too late, slamming Sam back in his seat, his teeth clacking with the force of the movement. The car was still moving, being pushed in the opposite direction that Sam was facing in, the grind of rock against metal echoing in his throbbing head. Forward and backward had lost all meaning in the nauseating movement of the rockslide and Sam couldn’t do anything but hold on and wait for it to end. 

As the dust slowly began to clear from the air, Sam was pleasantly surprised to find that he was still breathing. His fingers were going numb with how hard he was gripping the wheel, but other than that he seemed to be totally fine, which was nice. In the flickering light of the single surviving headlight, Sam could see that he was now sitting in a field of boulders where once there had been a mountainside and a road. 

“Okay,” he said to himself, and then sat still for a long, quiet moment, ears still echoing with the loud grind of the rockslide. “Okay,” he said again, and this time he actually managed to motivate himself into action. He touched his forehead where it had hit the steering wheel, unsurprised to find it tacky with drying blood. It didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore though, which was good. His head was throbbing with a bad headache that promised to be worse tomorrow, but it wasn’t anything that would kill him. Unbuckling himself, he twisted in his seat to see what the rest of the car looked like. The backseat, it turned out, was fine, though one of the windows was so riddled with cracks it would probably break if Sam looked at it too hard. The trunk, on the other hand, was another story. The boulder that had first hit the back of the vehicle was no longer resting on the metal hood, but it had been replaced by several other, smaller ones. Even if it hadn’t been, Sam didn’t feel like the way the metal was crumpled and twisted in on itself boded well for him being able to get in through the outside. 

Sam took a deep breath before climbing awkwardly into the backseat. It took a bit of adjusting, and his head was killing him by the time he finished, but he finally managed to get enough leverage to kick in the back seat and get into the trunk that way. After a bit of fumbling, hitting his elbow, and cursing, Sam managed to pull his new wings and duffle into the front of the car with him. Double checking that he’d grabbed everything, Sam finally exited the ruined vehicle, sliding himself backwards out of the shattered driver’s side window to stand on a large rock that had come to a stop right next to the car. Taking in a deep breath, he looked around at the landscape, rendered utterly unrecognizable by the mountain falling down on top of him. He wasn’t even sure what direction he’d come from, or what direction he’d been moving in, the road had been obliterated so completely. His phone had been showing no reception for the past hour but he still checked it anyways. Zero bars. 

Fuck. 

Sam stared at the screen of his phone for a long minute before finally pocketing the device with a sigh, settling his pack and duffle on his shoulders before beginning to pick his way across the field of rocks and boulders. Ten minutes later, he was picking his way back across them. 

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered to himself as he climbed back inside the car. There was no way he was going to twist an ankle trying to get across the rockfall in the dark, and with the last few rays of sunlight, he shoved his duffle under his head and settled down to pass the night inside the safety of his completely trashed rental.

“Definitely not getting back the deposit on this”, he muttered to himself as he fell asleep. 

Though it had been warm during the day, the sun setting behind the mountains sent the temperature plummeting, and when Sam woke to the sound of birds chittering away, he was shivering. He checked his phone, not surprised to see that he had only managed to sleep for five hours. Despite the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, that the military had instilled in him, the PTSD that they’d also gifted him included a healthy dose of paranoia that often made it difficult to sleep. And that was when he was in an actual house. His time running around with Steve had only made it worse, and being in a car in enemy territory certainly wasn’t making anything better. Without the knowledge that someone else was with him, watching his back, Sam had been unable to shake the constant pricking awareness that someone could be approaching the car and there was no one else with him. He touched his Beretta, still safely holstered on his waist, and took a deep breath. As he once again climbed out of the window of the car, the lack of sleep pressed against his eyes, heavy and gritty, and he was very aware of how vulnerable it made him. Still, as he stretched and grabbed his gear, he was feeling pretty cheerful. If there was one thing Sam Wilson had, it was his ability to persevere.

Two hours later, Sam was still cold, somehow still managing to sweat through his shirt, had scratched his cheek on a low-hanging branch that had unexpectedly hit him in the face, and was feeling decidedly less cheerful. He was also starting to panic, just a little bit, about his chances of finding his way out of the wilderness. He’d started out heading towards where he thought the road had been, based on the direction the sun had set the previous night, and where it had risen that morning, but either the mountain had moved or Sam had forgotten every bit of training he’d ever had, because he’d picked his way across the entire field of the landslide and found… nothing. Sucking in a sharp breath at having wasted so much time, he turned and slowly, painfully made his way back across the entire field only to find, again, nothing. No sign of a road, even after the last bits of rock gave away to uninterrupted forest. As far as he could tell, the field of boulders left behind by the slide was bracketed to the north by a sharp slope, cleared of all vegetation by the rocks that had slid down its face, while to the east and west were just more forest. The south, just past where his car had settled, was a sheer cliff face that had made him nauseous with how close the tail of his car was to it when he’d peered over it at the start of his day. 

The road had, somehow, completely disappeared. That, or… Sam’s eyes were drawn to the bare slope to the north, and he felt his stomach twist with acceptance even before his brain had completed the thought. Either the road had disappeared… or the slide had pushed Sam further down the mountain than he had first assumed. Sam eyed the slope, feeling very aware of the fact that he had neither the equipment or skill to climb it. Biting his lip, Sam looked around him, debating his options. The most obvious one would be for him to put on his new suit and fly out of there. He was supposed to be on a stealth mission though, and that would not only blow his cover as far as Hydra was concerned, it would give them the warning they would need to clear this base just as they’d cleared so many of the American bases he and Steve had found. Which meant that he only had one real option. Sighing, he shouldered his duffle. He glanced one last time at the slope, and then east, where he’d come from, before turning to the forest to the west. Where, hopefully, he would still be able to find the rumoured Hydra base.

It only took about fifteen minutes of walking before Sam began seriously questioning not only his sanity, but every life decision he’d ever made that had led him to this point. Beneath the tree cover it was dim and the chill that had begun to disappear when he’d been standing in the sunlight had returned with a vengeance. He was also questioning whether or not he’d be able to ever find anything in the dense Alpine forest. It was so foreign to the cities and deserts he was accustomed to that he was finding even walking through it slightly disorienting. The trees were different; he thought that might be it, what was causing him to feel like the world was just slightly off centre of where it should be. The plants were unfamiliar, and the sounds of the birds ever so slightly unfamiliar. Even the air smelled off, colder and somehow rawer than he was used to. It gave him the same feeling as when you were walking down a staircase and expected there to be one more step than there was, that same strange swooping sensation as your version of reality realigned with the rest of the world.

He was also trying very hard to remember his wilderness survival training.

Sam came to an abrupt stop in the middle of trying to remember how to start a fire with nothing other than two sticks. The disorientation between what he kept expecting from his surroundings and the reality of the forest wasn’t getting any better. At this point, he was feeling off-kilter enough that, though he was still miles from where Nick had roughly estimated the base to be, he wanted to be armed. Unzipping his duffel, he took stock of his supplies. Along with clothing, toiletries, and rations, he had his tactical suit, a couple of different guns, knives, flares, and a first aid kit. It was probably a bit premature to put on his suit, a version of his usual suit that had been dyed cameo green and was outfitted with chameleon technology, whatever the fuck that meant. Stark was terrible at actually explaining shit. He bit his lip again, before deciding fuck it, it would make him feel better. He stripped, changing quickly, very aware of how vulnerable he was for those couple of minutes. Assembling his M4 Carbine, he put the strap for the rifle across his chest, before sliding the Beretta back into the holster at the small of his back. A couple of matte-black bladed knives later, and he was feeling far more settled into his skin. With his wings on his back, ready for activation at a moment’s notice, he slid the duffel back onto one shoulder and headed deeper into the forest. 

Though the rockslide had pushed him off track, Sam had spent enough time getting navigation skills drilled into his head by angry old men with tendencies to spit in his face when they yelled at him that, between his compass and the sun, he was able to put himself back into the general vicinity of the rumoured base. It actually helped that he’d been forced off the road, as the path walking through the forest turned out to be a far straighter, and shorter, route to take. Once he was as sure as he could be that he was getting close to where Nick’s intelligence said the base was, he switched tactics. Trying to do a grid alone, in a forest, was challenging, but Sam did his best with what he had to work with. He was mostly hoping that the entrance to the base wouldn’t be too subtle. He huffed a laugh as he stepped over a fallen log, remembering the hidden torture chamber in the Princess Bride. 

“Just gotta find the right knot,” he muttered to himself, eyes scanning his surroundings as he carefully picked his way across the forest floor. He wondered if that would make Barnes Westley. Mostly dead was probably a pretty good description of the man, he thought bleakly. Fuck, he should definitely start calling Steve Buttercup. He was still smiling at that thought when he stepped into the centre of a small clearing. The click registered before anything else. His first instinct screamed _landmine_ at him, making him freeze in place. That turned out to be the wrong choice, as the earth suddenly opened up beneath him. 

Always with the fucking underground bases, he thought even as his heart jumped into his throat and he began to fall. He flung out his hands, arms thudding against the grass, painfully jarring his entire body. His fingers twisted into the short blades, sinking slightly into the dirt and for a second he thought he had it, before the added weight of his wings dragged him down, fingers scrambling for something to grab onto, nails dragging rivulets through the grass as he slipped into the earth. It was pitch black as he fell, and with no other options, he slammed the button on his chest to activate his wings. They whirred to life, beginning to open, and he had another second’s worth of hope before they hit the sides of the tunnel with a horrifying screech, sparks flying around him and illuminating just how narrow it was. The fact that he was still falling meant that he wasn’t going to survive this, Sam knew, and he watched his wings crumple and attempt to retract with a detached resignation, even as he scrabbled on his person for something, anything, he could use to stop his fall. But there was nothing. He was still falling, and Sam had a solid second to be pissed that this was how it was going to end. 

_I’ll see Riley again,_ he thought suddenly, unbidden, and his heart jumped. 

There was a resounding thud, and pain, and then, finally, complete and utter darkness.


	3. As we plan our escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations available by hovering over the text, or in the end note.

Sam could really have gone the rest of his life without being held prisoner, he thought as he watched two tall, blank-faced white guys walk past his cell. He was pretty sure there were actually different guys patrolling the corridor – there couldn’t be the same two guards all the time – but they all looked exactly the same. _Nazi motherfuckers_ , he thought as he scanned their buzzed hair, SS-esque uniforms, and the AK-47s held tight in their arms. He knew that Hydra liked to pretend they weren’t the same as Nazis, having heard as much, at length, from one of the guards that he’d said that to.

“Hydra split from the Nazi party decades ago,” he’d said, and Sam had narrowly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So far they hadn’t seemed interested in anything but leaving Sam to die of boredom in this fucking hole in the ground, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonize them.

“Sure, sure, because heil Hydra and your obsession with white supremacy are super not at all like the Nazis,” Sam said.

(Okay, so he wasn’t doing a very good job at the whole ‘not antagonizing thing’, but nothing had happened so far.)

“It’s hail, not ‘heil’,” the guy had said, looking affronted, and Sam wondered if he could break out by just bashing his head against his cell door until it broke.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but he figured it had been somewhere between two and three weeks. His sense of time was kind of fucked, with the lights of his cell being on all the time. He was pretty sure they were feeding him at weird times too, to fuck with him further, though he couldn’t be certain that it wasn’t just captivity messing with his appetite. He also still didn’t understand how he’d survived his fall into their trap, and so far all asking had gotten him was either ignored or another rant about how amazing Hydra was, neither of which were very satisfying answers.

“Worst vacation ever,” he said to himself, and grinned. Steve would have liked that one, he thought. Fuck he missed Steve. He’d already have broken them out of there, the superpowered asshole. He wondered if Steve knew he was missing, if Nick had alerted anyone. If anyone was looking for him.

He wasn’t betting on it.

Not that he blamed Nick. It was what it was, the same way it had been what it was when his superiors had refused to let him go back to get Riley’s body until after they’d cleared out the whole region. The thought that Riley might have been alive for a while but had died because Sam had had to wait before he could go find him was something that Sam figured would haunt him until the day he died. Finding out what had happened to Barnes had very much _not_ helped that particular nightmare. Still, soldiers and generals both did what they had to during war, and Nick was besieged on all sides and running low on allies. Even if he hadn’t known where it would lead him, he’d known exactly what he was getting himself into the day he opened his door and let the Black Widow and Captain America into his house. What he was signing on for when he told them where to find his wings, when he said he’d continue to follow Steve even after the fall of Project Insight. Something messy, something violent, something that would terrify him and probably traumatize him all over again. But something that, he really believed, was ultimately worth it.

Not that it made this part of the whole thing any better.

He rolled over, staring up at the ceiling and listening as the sounds of booted feet faded from hearing. _No one tells you about being captured and held in a cell when you sign on to be a superhero,_ he thought to himself. _It’s all, ‘oh it’ll be great Sam. We can help destroy one of the world’s biggest clandestine organizations. Won’t that be fun Sam?’ and no one mentions being locked in a hole in the ground._ Also, if he resigned himself to his death one more time and didn’t die he was going to be pissed. There was only so much soul searching he could do, shit. His ghosts were probably getting tired of him trying to make peace with them over and over again.

Sam figured they were holding him in the hopes that someone from the former SHIELD would come and rescue him, maybe even Steve. Sam still hadn’t decided if that was hilarious or insulting. Maybe a bit of both. They didn’t seem to be wrong that he would need rescuing though. The first couple of days after he had woken up in the cell, a bandage on his temple and a pounding headache making the room spin, he’d tried to figure out a way to get out. The cell was solidly built however, with rock at his back and sides and a wall of solid iron bars covering the front. There was a toilet and sink in the room, and anything else – food, toilet paper – was shoved in through a small hatch at the front of the cell. Unless one of the dumbasses patrolling past dropped their keys directly in front of the cell and then thoughtfully wandered off for a bit, there wasn’t much Sam could do. Not that he’d actually seen anyone carrying keys, and he was pretty sure the cell was locked with a keypad, but whatever.

A man could dream.

Once, in the first couple of days he’d been there, he’d managed to get one of the guards to walk right up to the bars (Hydra agents, he was learning, were very touchy when you insulted their fascist organization). He’d managed to grab the guy’s head and smash it against the bars, stunning him enough for Sam to scrabble along his uniform for _anything_ that could help him out. He had managed to get ahold of a butterfly knife. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could _do_ with it, though he did still stash it for safekeeping, just in case. The whole thing had also had the unfortunate side effect of causing his captors to start drugging his food, different bits every time, so that he could never figure out what to skip, or when.

The patrol was just passing his cell when it happened. The scream that echoed through the corridor was human, but it was the kind of scream that made you wish it wasn’t, or at least that you didn’t know it was, that you didn’t recognize it because you’d heard it before, under the worst circumstances. The surprise and fear on the faces of the guards would be funny if Sam wasn’t feeling the exact same thing. They exchanged looks, and Sam almost thought, for a moment, that cowardice would bear out and send them fleeing, but they squared their shoulders, and marched forward, disappearing from Sam’s sight. Sam had never felt more trapped that he did in that moment, nails biting into his palms as he was forced to wait, and wait. He tried not to think that it might be a rescue, tried to keep it out of his mind, as if thinking it might jinx him, might make it not be true. He could feel whatever they’d put in the rubbery eggs he’d eaten earlier beginning to kick in, immediately dulling the panic that shot through him at the realization that he was going to have to deal with whatever the fuck was going on while stoned out of his mind.

It felt like forever, but probably hadn’t actually been that long before sounds of fighting began to echo through the corridor, becoming louder and louder as it drew closer to where Sam was. He moved to the front of his cell, pressed himself up against the bars, but stepped back seconds later, moving until the rock wall was at his back. Without knowing who was coming, it was better if they didn’t see him right away. He couldn’t see anything anyways, not unless it was directly in front of his cell. After a second, he also reached over and pulled the knife he’d taken from the guard from beneath the thin mattress of his bed, holding it behind his back, though he prayed to God he wouldn’t have to fight like this. The drugs were making his head spin, and he suspected that if he tried to lunge forward with the knife, he’d just end up falling flat on his face.

The sight of a Hydra soldier stumbling backwards and into Sam’s line of sight was startling. The soldier was silent, staring straight ahead with wide eyes and, once he’d come to a stop, not moving. It took a second before Sam realized why – the man was dying, a large piece of rebar run straight through his gut. Sam knew what was coming even before he came into sight.

He’d finally found Barnes.

The man he’d been hunting for almost two years _stalked_ the corridor, every movement of his body screaming predator. The heaving of his shoulders as he breathed was the only sign that he was anything less than composed. His hair was tied up in a bun, eyes smeared with greasepaint, and he was wearing the same black leather uniform that he’d been wearing on the bridge. There were droplets of blood sprayed across his face, several of which had collected enough fluid to run down his cheeks, streaks of blood slicing across his eyebrow, his cheekbone. He had a brief, wild second of thinking that Barnes was wearing a red glove over his metal hand before his brain accepted the reality that his arm was just covered in blood all the way up to his elbow.

Sam felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Barnes stepped forward, raised his leg, and kicked the rebar sticking out of the soldier’s chest, the metal making a slick, meaty sound as it slid further through the man. The man didn’t scream, just make a wet sound as blood bubbled from between his lips and he slowly fell to his knees. Barnes took out a pistol and shot him between the eyes. He stared down at the dead man for a long second, and Sam found himself holding his breath, stilling like a rabbit before a wolf, praying not to be spotted.

When Barnes’ head jerked up, Sam barely suppressed an instinctive twitch, instead managing to stay still, and unseen, as Barnes took several steps forward. He briefly disappeared from Sam’s vision, and the sound of gunfire rang out, echoing off the rock so that Sam couldn’t tell if it came from Barnes or someone else. Seconds later, another body flew into Sam’s line of sight, this one already dead as he slid down the corridor, leaving a long streak of blood in his wake, bright and gleaming against the concrete. Barnes followed, walking backwards as he grappled with a soldier, gun apparently discarded as he swung his metal fist towards the other man’s head. The soldier dodged, only to lurch forward as Barnes’ other fist sunk into the flesh of his stomach. His metal hand caught the light as it flashed back upwards. The soldier tried to get his breath back, gasping for air, but it was already too late. Sam didn’t realize that Barnes had pulled a knife from somewhere until it was already buried in the soldier’s throat. There was another long moment of silence. Sam had no idea what to do, thoughts foggy and slippery as Barnes stood right in front of his cell, breathing hard. Then he walked off, and Sam was torn between calling after him and not drawing attention to himself. It seemed like Barnes was intent on slaughtering everyone in this base, and Sam would rather not be left to starve in a cage. On the other hand, by staying silent he didn’t run the risk that Barnes would turn that violence again on Sam.

There were more gunshots less than a minute later, but they were already farther away than the ones before, and after a couple more minutes, Sam could no longer hear any sounds of fighting. He stayed upright, as ready as he could be, for several long minutes before the way the drugs were making his head spin became too much, and he had to sit down, letting his head hang between his knees but not setting down his knife.

He wasn’t sure what made him look up, however much later, but he couldn’t help but jump when he did. Barnes was back, standing directly in front of his cell and _staring_ at Sam like he was trying to figure out who he was. There was blood dripping off the fingers of his metal hand, and he was holding what looked like Sam’s Carbine in his other hand. Sam stood, taking a step forward.

“That’s my gun,” Sam said, because he wanted to die, apparently.

[](https://imgur.com/2RdsRpG)

Barnes just stared at him blankly.

 _This is going well_ , Sam thought.

Barnes twitched forward, and Sam couldn’t help but flinch backwards, though there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, nowhere to run. Barnes froze, just for a second, metal hand outstretched. He didn’t look at Sam before unfreezing, carrying through his earlier motion to reach forward and _rip_ one of the iron bars of Sam’s cell out of the frame. Then another, and another, and Sam couldn’t do anything but stand and watch the horrific show of strength.

Barnes ripped off one more bar, tossing it to the side where it hit the concrete with a resounding clang as he raised his head to make eye-contact with Sam. Without looking away, he stepped through the opening he’d created, and Sam took a step backwards without meaning to. Sam raised his hand, knife gripped tight in his palm, but Barnes didn’t even glance down at the movement. It didn’t matter, in the end – a wave of dizziness washed over him, and the knife dropped from trembling fingers.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, as Barnes stepped closer and closer. His head spun and he had enough time to curse his body for choosing this of all times to become overwhelmed by the drugs as his knees gave out. He dropped, black spots blooming across his vision.

He never reached the floor. Instead, there were two hands looped under his armpits, and he raised his head to meet the eyes of Barnes, who looked just as startled to find himself holding Sam as Sam felt being held. Barnes face twitched weirdly, and for a moment, Sam thought he was about to say something. Instead, he unceremoniously hoisted Sam higher, looping Sam’s arm around his shoulders.

“Okej?” Barnes said, voice deep and rough. Sam blinked at him.

“What?” He said, and Barnes grimaced.

“Skit.” He said, voice deepening as he scowled. Sam squinted at him, leaning back a bit to try and get his eyes to focus properly.

“Am I losing it, or are you not speaking English?” he asked.

Barnes actually growled at him.

 _I hope Rogers feels really, really guilty when Barnes murders me,_ Sam thought.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, if asked to recount how he and Barnes had made it out of the Hydra base, Sam honestly wouldn’t have been able to give a clear answer. Impressions, sure. There was smoke, and fire. There was the sound of gunfire, both distant and echoing and so close it made his ears ring. There were people screaming, commands being shouted, and, he was pretty sure, Barnes laughing. Sam couldn’t understand anything that anyone was saying around him. He remembered gripping onto Barnes’ metal arm where it was wrapped around his waist, remembered Barnes shoving Sam’s wings at him with rough words in a language he didn’t recognize. He remembered that he had cried a bit then. And he was pretty sure at one point he’d puked on a Hydra agent. That had thrown the guy badly enough that Barnes had been able to get up inside his defenses and stab him though, so Sam was going to label that one a tactical decision on his part.

What he did remember, very clearly, was the feeling of fresh air touching his skin for the first time in weeks.

Sobriety came to Sam in a clearing in the forest he’d disappeared into weeks before. Someone, presumably Barnes, had propped Sam up against the trunk of a tree with a giant water bottle next to his leg. His wings were laying against his side, one of his arms curled around them protectively. After a moment of toying with the idea of panicking and trying to get himself into some sort of defensive position, Sam let himself list to the side instead, leaning against the tree trunk. He spent a long minute with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the wind sliding across his sweaty skin, clearing the scent of blood and smoke from his nostrils.

“I would be so, so happy if I never had to go underground for the rest of my life,” he said, and half-opened his eyes to look at the other man whose presence he’d been painfully aware of ever since he’d come back into himself. Barnes didn’t react to Sam speaking, and Sam watched through his lashes as the other man continued to spread out his gear on a tarp on the forest floor. Once every bag and pocket had been emptied, Barnes began methodically cleaning each piece, returning each to its pocket as it was cleaned. It was soothing to watch, the well-worn motions, though Sam felt anything but relaxed. While his instincts warned him to be on guard, the heavy haze of the drugs slowly leaving his system made that difficult, and even as he struggled against his sluggish limbs he was very aware of how helpless he was. Barnes could easily kill him before he would be able to coerce his uncooperative body into movement.

Every time he remembered the feeling of Barnes tearing off his wings, Sam felt just as strong a wave of terror and adrenaline as he had the day it had happened. He’d read the files afterwards, right alongside the rest of the world. He knew what Barens was capable of, what he had done. Aside from that, being in Barnes presence just made it even more obvious how justified that fear was – the man held himself like a predator. Like something wild and utterly untamed that had been held captive, but was now free and hungry for the kill. He knew he should be afraid of this man, no matter what Steve said. Sam had always acknowledged, even if it was only quietly, even if it was only in the back of his own head, that what he’d said to Steve the morning that Insight fell might still be true. That Barnes might be beyond saving. He’d seen Steve in that hospital after the helicarriers went down. He’d gone into this with the knowledge that, for whatever other reasons he was doing it, there was always going to be the possibility that, in the end, he’d have to do what Rogers would not.

So Sam observed the man who had once been the Winter Soldier, forcing himself to take deep and steady breaths and keep his fear at bay. He found himself sinking into the same headspace he’d often entered into Afghanistan. A careful detachment, not from fear, but from its capacity to overwhelm him and his decision making abilities. He let himself feel his fear, let himself acknowledge it, then pushed past it to observe Bucky Barnes as he field cleaned a bloody knife the length of Sam’s forearm. The other man’s forehead was furrowed in an expression of intense concentration, but other than that there wasn’t much expression on his face that Sam could read. His memories of getting out of the base with Barnes were hazy. He couldn’t remember if Barnes had spoken to any of the Hydra soldiers, or to Sam. He was pretty sure he remembered something about Barnes grabbing a Hydra agent and smashing his head against a wall so hard that the man’s head had basically exploded. One of his eyeballs had bounced off Sam’s shirt. _Jesus_. Sam’s stomach rolled as he glanced down at himself. He hoped that hadn’t actually happened. Violence aside, Barnes hadn’t said anything to Sam since they’d left the warren of a base buried beneath them, and Sam couldn’t get a read on how much of… _himself_ Barnes had regained. Sam shifted slightly, trying to gauge his own capacity for movement now that he’d been sitting for a while, grimacing as he recognized that he still wouldn’t be running anytime soon.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Sam went back to watching Barnes clean his very eclectic knife collection that Sam assumed hadn’t been part of any sort of kit, and was instead the result of Barnes collecting them from every place he’d been at, like a magpie. Sam was pretty sure he saw a kitchen knife or two in the pile. However, each one, regardless of origin, received the same treatment, and was carefully cleaned before being returned to its place, whether on Barnes himself or in a bag.

When he finished the knives, Barnes stood, stripping off his jacket, and Sam felt his mouth go dry at the sight of Barnes’ shoulder, fully exposed in the light black tank he wore under his tactical jacket. His pulse jumped as memories from the bridge and the helicarriers flashed across his mind. He must have made some sort of noise because Barnes looked at him, head whipping up. Dark blue eyes bore into Sam across the clearing, and Sam took deep breaths, in and out, as Barnes dropped his jacket onto the tarp. Crossing the yards between them in a couple of strides, Barnes stopped by Sam’s feet. Sam couldn’t help the small flinch that twitched through him as Barnes raised a hand, pointing.

“Вы павінны піць ваду,” he said. Sam frowned up at him. At least that hadn’t been part of his drugged haze.

“Still not English,” he said, and a flash of frustration crossed Barnes’ face, there and then gone again.

“Dŵr,” he tried again, crouching and unmistakably pointing at the water bottle by Sam’s leg. Sam raised an eyebrow as he picked up the bottle.

“Diod,” Barnes said, voice hard and insistent.

“Jesus, fine,” Sam muttered. He briefly debated the wisdom of drinking something given to him by a formerly brainwashed assassin, before mentally shrugging. _What else could go wrong?_ he thought as he unscrewed the cap and drank. Barnes watched him with an intensity that was making Sam very uncomfortable. It wasn’t until Sam had finished nearly half the bottle, however, that Barnes finally nodded and rose from his crouch, still looking angry.

“Oedd bod mor chyfrgolla galed?” he muttered to himself as he walked back to the tarp, words unfamiliar but tone unmistakable. Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop drinking. Barnes hadn’t been wrong – Sam didn’t realize how thirsty he was until that first mouthful had hit his stomach, and now he was desperate for it. The water was also helping with the headache that had begun to pound behind his eyes as the last of the drugs left his system.

When the bottle was finally empty, Sam looked back at the other man, surprised to find him neatly dressed in clean clothing. Civilian clothing, Sam noted: a black tee-shirt with a long-sleeved grey shirt layered under it, and grey sweatpants. His metal hand was disguised with black driving gloves. His hair was pulled up in a bun, and his face had been cleaned of blood and greasepaint. With his days-old scruff and hooded eyes, he looked like anyone and no one. Which, Sam supposed, was probably exactly the point.

Barnes crossed the clearing to Sam again, and Sam narrowly managed not to flinch this time. He crouched when he got close to Sam again, and it occurred to Sam that the other man might be trying to make himself seem less threatening. Sam searched the other man’s face for any sign that that was the case, but his expression had gone from angry to unreadable. With the growing headache pressing on the back of his eyes, Sam finally gave up trying to divine meaning from the blankness of Barnes’ eyes. Barnes’ arms jerked, and Sam looked down to see that Barnes was holding out a bundle towards Sam, probably had been since he’d crossed the clearing. After a second Sam realized it was clean clothing. Sam stared at the clothing for a long moment before deciding that he was going to stop trying to figure out what the fuck Barnes was thinking for now. That he was getting them both into clean clothing, and taking care of his weapons, at least spoke to a sort of mechanical lucidity. Worrying about what was going on behind that veneer of competence could wait until Sam had had a nap and, like, sixteen burgers.

Sam made sure to set his wings carefully down on the ground before attempting to stand, deliberately ignoring the rattling noise they made – he really didn’t want to start crying again. He managed to get to his feet on his own, but toppled back into the tree when he tried to push away from it. Teeth gritted in frustration at his body’s continued betrayal, Sam stripped leaning against the tree instead, pulling on a pair of dark blue sweatpants and soft grey henley. The shoes were a bit big, but he managed to get the laces tight enough that they wouldn’t fall off the second he had to run (and there was no way this day was ending without Sam having to run at least a little bit). Dressed, he grabbed his wings, staggering and almost falling over before he finally managed to hitch them onto his shoulder. He turned to find Barnes pointedly looking in the opposite direction and Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry that the 90-year-old brainwashed assassin had made efforts to give Sam some privacy. Maybe both. Sam didn’t get a chance to do either as Barnes choose that time to turn around and close the distance between them. He reached out one hand, but stopped short of touching Sam. They stood like that for a long moment, with Barnes looking blankly at Sam while Sam stared at him in increasing confusion. Barnes’ hand was still hovering above Sam’s shoulder, steady and motionless in a way that send shivers down Sam’s back. Inhumanly still, he’d say, except that it was Barnes’ right hand, not his left. Barnes still hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given any indication to what he wanted when Sam finally hazarded a guess, the only thing he could think of.

“Go for it,” Sam said, voice far more hesitant than he would have liked, and then Barnes was once again carefully sliding Sam’s arm over his shoulders. Barnes had the duffle slung across his other shoulder, and Sam could hear the soft whirring of gears as his arm adjusted to the weight. The first couple of steps were awkward, but they managed to find a rhythm pretty quickly, and were soon moving quicker than Sam would have thought they could manage, encumbered as they were. Sam had thought, after that first jerky step, of asking Barnes where they were headed, or even refusing to go with the other man. Now that he’d found Barnes, however, he found himself shying away from the thought of losing him again, after everything he and Steve had been through to find him. As for asking where they were going, Sam already knew how that would go. He’d ask, Barnes would growl something at him in a language Sam didn’t speak, and either way Sam would still be following Barnes through the forest. He would just have to trust that Barnes rescuing Sam meant that the other man wasn’t just taking him somewhere else to horrifically murder him.

In any other circumstances, that would be a safe assumption.

It turned out that Sam didn’t have to wait long to find out where they were going. They’d only been walking for around fifteen minutes when the forest abruptly ended, giving way to a grassy ditch leading up to a familiar-looking highway.

“Guess you came in the other way eh?” Sam said as Barnes helped him walk around to the passenger’s side door of the black Golf parked slightly haphazardly on the side of the highway. “Just a heads up, the road’s out to the east.” Barnes shot him a look that Sam couldn’t quite read as he half-slid, half-dropped Sam into the car. Closing Sam’s door, Barnes walked back around the car, throwing the duffle in the trunk before climbing in the driver’s side door. Sam tucked his wings between his feet on the floor. He felt at once ridiculous and reassured for how much better it made him feel to have them there with him, even if he was sure that they were heavily damaged from his fall, if not completely broken. The car started with a reassuring rumble, and Barnes shifted into gear, executing a smooth u-turn before heading west, away from where Sam’s car had met its inglorious end. They hadn’t been driving for more than a couple of minutes before there was a distant thud, and the entire world seemed to shake. Sam felt every muscle in his body tense at once, abused limbs screaming in protest as he twisted to frantically scan outside of his window. The side of the mountain was several miles away from them though, and as far as Sam could see, was also not toppling down to crush them. He turned to Barnes to find the other man looking at him out of the corner of his eye, face twisted into a frown that on someone else Sam might imagine was concerned.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Sprenging,” Barnes said, raising his right hand off the wheel, making a fist before splaying open his fingers. “Uppsveiflu.” Sam stared blankly at him for a long moment before his exhausted mind was able to make the connection.

“You blew up the base,” he said, and Barnes nodded.

“Drepið þá alla,” he said, and fuck, the small smile that crept across Barnes’ face was more terrifying than his anger or blankness had ever been. That smile said pain and fire and bloody, bloody vengeance. That smile was one that belonged to a man that was prepared to tear everyone who had ever harmed him limb from bloody limb.

It was a long time before Sam drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next time Sam woke up, it was dark outside the windows, the lights of the Autobahn flashing past. It looked like Barnes was returning them to civilization, having driven them out of the Alps and off those fucking horrifying secondary highways while Sam slept. Sam watched as signs in German flashed past the windows. He caught the word Zurich, and rolled his head over to look at Barnes. The question he was going to ask died on his lips as he observed the other man. Barnes seemed unaware of the scrutiny Sam was subjecting him to, though Sam would bet his life that Barnes knew every twitch Sam had made since he’d rescued him. As he watched, a muscle in Barnes’ jaw jumped, and Sam couldn’t help but smile. _Gotcha_ , he thought.

“We going to Geneva?” He asked, because being a dick to assassins was apparently what he did for fun now. Barnes’ jaw ticked again, and Sam bit his lip against a smile.

“Sei kein Arsch,” Barnes bit out.

“Hey,” Sam said, leaning forward. “I think that might have been German! You’re getting closer.” Barnes scowled, and Sam watched him for a second. “You know,” he said slowly, “I’m not an expert or anything, I just know what I know from some other vets at the VA, but… I think aphasia’s pretty common with traumatic brain injury.” Barnes’ eyes flicked to Sam, but he didn’t look angry anymore, just… blank. Sam looked at him for another long moment before finally leaning back in his seat. “The brain does a lot of weird shit when it’s recovering,” he said, and let silence fill the car.

He had no idea what Barnes’ brain was doing, to be honest, and now he was kind of questioning if he should have said anything at all, but… well, it was too late for that. There probably wasn’t anyone in the world who would have an idea of what Barnes’ brain was doing, though there were definitely people who would be able to make a better guess than Sam could. Still, he didn’t think there’d been many studies done on the effect of decades of torture, brainwashing, knock-off supersoldier serum, and cryo-freeze on someone’s brain. Probably not, anyways. At least not one that had been published in a peer-reviewed scientific journal, not unless Hydra had their own. Sam shivered at that thought, and firmly decided to stop ruminating on the existence of peer-reviewed journals of terrifying Nazi experiments.

Sam wasn’t surprised that Barnes already had a hotel room in the city. Whether or not Barnes had been trained to plan for any eventuality by Hydra or not, he certainly would have had to learn the skill in the months and months where he’d avoided not just Hydra but Steve, Sam, and every major intelligence operandus in the world. Barnes had managed to speak to the guy at the front desk in easy German, the syllables falling naturally from his mouth. Sam had to wonder if it was just luck that Barnes’ brain was stuck in German, if English was the only language he was having trouble with, or if he was faking it to somehow fuck with Sam. Honestly, at this point, none of those options would surprise him. Sam watched Barnes take a key from the guy. He once again considered running, something that would be much easier now that he was able to stand under his own power, and now that they were in a city rather than the middle of nowhere. He still couldn’t tell if Barnes perceived him as a prisoner or something else. An ally, maybe. Hopefully not an enemy. Sam didn’t think that Barnes would have rescued him if he saw him as an enemy.

He had followed Barnes in from the car, wings in hand, and he did the same as Barnes headed into the elevator. Barnes was carrying the duffel from the trunk of the car, slung over his shoulder. They rode the elevator in silence, and Sam tried to figure out what the fuck to do. He wondered if this is what Barnes had been doing ever since Insight, destroying bases and hunting down Hydra agents. It wouldn’t surprise Sam, though he wasn’t sure what he could do with that knowledge. He did know that he wasn’t going to be able to get the guy to go anywhere he didn’t want to go – Sam would give it his best if it came down to it, but after a couple weeks in captivity, he was pretty sure he knew how that fight would end. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to do that – so far, Barnes seemed lucid, capable of making his own decisions and managing his own survival. After decades of Barnes having his autonomy stripped from him, the last thing Sam wanted was to take Barnes’ choices away from him. On the other hand, he would have to tell Nick, tell _Steve_ , something.

His phone, however, was gone, and with it Steve’s phone number, new enough that Sam didn’t have it memorized. He did know how to contact Nick, but doing so would require a phone, and Sam wasn’t sure how to do that without alerting Barnes to the fact that Sam was trying to contact someone. Sam didn’t really want to know how Barnes would take that, not right then. He also wasn’t sure what Nick would think of Sam’s current company, what he might ask Sam to do. Sam had few enough allies left that he didn’t want to burn any bridges, but he knew himself, knew that when it came down to it, he was liable to do something reckless and against orders in pursuit of what he thought was right. That was, after all, exactly how he had ended up in Hydra’s sights in the first place.

As they exited the lift and entered the double room just to the left of the elevator doors, Sam once again spent a minute observing the other man. The problem was that he had no idea what Barnes was thinking, what his plan was, how much he knew (or remembered) about who he was, or who Sam was. He just… had no gauge of what Barnes wanted, or how he would react to anything that Sam did.

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the door clicking shut behind him. Looking around, his eyes snagged on the bed, and he couldn’t help but let out a little groan. Barnes turned, cocking his head to the side as he frowned. Sam shook his head at him. He was beginning to think that Barnes only had two expressions: blank and pissed off.

“Laugh all you want man, but I would literally fight our way out of that base all over again if someone told me I would get to sleep in that bed afterwards.” Barnes wasn’t laughing, and he didn’t smile at Sam’s words either, but he did step back, raising his hands, and Sam thought he could see amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Damn straight,” Sam said, unable to help the smile that leaked into his voice as he walked past the other man. Depositing his wings beside the bed, he moved to sit before abruptly freezing, looking down at himself. Though Barnes had given him clean clothing, it had still been weeks since Sam had had any shower at all, much less a real, hot one, and he suddenly felt like he could feel every molecule of dirt and blood that had been ground into his skin. Barnes’ eyes tracked him from where he’d settled onto the other bed as Sam turned and headed for the bathroom.

“Shower first,” Sam said, feeling an impulse to fill the silence that stretched between them. He hesitated as he entered the bathroom, but eventually pushed the door completely shut, Barnes still staring at the door as he disappeared from Sam’s view. The click of the door shutting made Sam feel both anxious and relieved, and he couldn’t help but slump against the counter for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath.

The shower was amazing, scorching hot with incredible water pressure. The free soap smelled like vanilla, and Sam left the bathroom in a billowing cloud of steam, flushed and smelling like cake. He had been prepared to put back on the old sweatpants when he got out of the shower, but there had been a clean pair, along with a soft cotton tee, sitting on the toilet seat when he got out. He tried not to think about the fact that Barnes had made it in and out of the bathroom without Sam noticing, and instead just enjoyed the feeling of clean clothing against his skin. Barnes had turned out the lights in the main room, but Sam could still see that he wasn’t asleep, propped up against the headboard of the other bed. The faint light from the street outside glinted off his eyes, and Sam swallowed against an irrational wave of fear.

“You’ve got first watch then?” Sam asked as he climbed into the other bed. There was a long silence in which Sam got comfortable, nearly groaning aloud at the way the blankets felt covering his body, letting his entire face sink into the pillow. He was almost asleep before the other man spoke, and when he did, it was so quiet Sam wasn’t sure if he’d heard it at all.

“Yes,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Barnes was gone when Sam woke up. He sat in the bed for a long moment, propped up and staring at the other bed. The room was bright with midmorning sunlight, and Sam’s limbs felt heavy, the way they always did when he’d slept for too long. He supposed he couldn’t be too surprised that Barnes had disappeared. He’d known that this was a possibility before he’d even gone to sleep, but. Still.

Sam sighed.

He guessed at least he could tell Steve he’d seen Barnes and that Barnes seemed to be managing okay, and at least wasn’t running around murdering random civilians. That would probably make Steve stupidly happy. That man was so starved for good news. Sighing again, Sam threw the blankets off himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He was in the middle of stretching when he heard the click of the door opening. Sam was lunging for the cover provided by the far side of his bed when he caught sight of a metal hand holding a paper bag. He looked up to meet the eyes of a frozen Barnes, whose eyes were rapidly scanning the room for the threat. Sam couldn’t help but laugh at how absurd this all was.

“Hey man,” he said, not bothering to move out of his ungainly sprawl. “I thought you’d left.” Barnes frowned at him as he stepped the rest of the way inside the room, doing a quick check of the hallway before closing and locking the door. He threw the paper bag he was holding at Sam as he walked past Sam’s bed, and Sam sat up to look inside. There were a couple of pastries and a bottle of juice, and he couldn’t help the small noise of surprise and happiness that left his mouth at the sight of them. After pulling everything out of the bag, he devoured them, uncaring of the crumbs he was spraying everywhere. It wasn’t until he finished that he noticed Barnes sitting on the other bed, staring at Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam said, mouth still full of the last couple of bites. “Were some of those for you?” Barnes shook his head.

“Du musst später noch etwas Wesentliches essen,” he said.

“Great,” Sam said.

Barnes looked at him for a long moment, jaw ticking once, before settling a large toolbox on the floor between their beds. Sam leaned forward slightly, curious, as Barnes opened the top of the box, grabbing a couple of tools before leaning back on his bed. He did something that Sam couldn’t quite see and then suddenly the plates on his forearm were sliding back to reveal the interior machinery of his arm. Barnes, frowning, began poking through the wires with an incredibly fine screwdriver. Sam watched in fascination for several long minutes before it occurred to him that it might be a bit rude to stare at a guy as he fixed his cybernetic hand. So far Barnes hadn’t acted violently towards Sam, but Sam wasn’t counting on that lasting. If anything, it was making him more tense, as he waited for the other shoe to drop and the dead-eyed man who had thrown him off a helicarrier to reappear. Everything was just a lot of questions, and Sam was feeling strung tight with tension, a string waiting to snap.

He glanced around the rest of the room, and his eyes caught on his wings, still lying near the bed where he’d dropped them the previous night. Standing, he grabbed them before returning to the bed. He didn’t know all the mechanics of how the wings worked, and he was sure that Stark had added some horrifying and incomprehensible new things, but he had been rigorously trained to do field repairs on the original wings. Plus, there may have been some on-the-fly, in-the-field repairs that he and Riley had never reported to anyone… and perhaps some insomnia-driven tinkering that he would swear up and down never happened if questioned by a superior officer… and he’d maybe stolen the blueprints when he’d stolen back the original wings with Tash and Steve.

Maybe.

He pressed the button to deploy the wings in maintenance mode. They did, but with a horrific screech that had both him and Barnes flinching. Sam noted, from the corner of his eye, how Barnes’ hand had disappeared under his pillow, and Sam was sure it was wrapped around some sort of weapon, whether a gun or a knife. With one arm out of commission, Barnes must have weapons stashed everywhere in the room. Sam was struck with a sudden, twisting realization that Barnes must trust him, to leave himself vulnerable like that. He barely resisted the urge to look at the other man, instead reaching down to run his fingers over the twisted metal of his wings. There was no way for him to discover why Barnes might be willing to trust him when Barnes wasn’t speaking English, and it might all be a ruse anyways, an illusion of trust where none existed.

One wing barely extended out from the pack, and Sam could already see where they’d been damaged from his fall through the tunnel. With another look at Barnes, who seemed to be pretty studiously ignoring Sam to focus on his arm, Sam reached into the toolbox, grabbing a pair of fine-tipped needle-nose pliers and starting to work. It was strangely pleasant, sitting in silence with Barnes as they both worked on repairs. Sam would look up to catch an occasional glimpse of the other man, but largely stayed focused on his own work. A couple times he could have sworn he felt Barnes’ eyes on him, but when he looked up at the other man, he was never looking in Sam’s direction. Instead, he seemed wholly focused on his own work, brow furrowed as he stared at his arm.

[](https://imgur.com/lSxhiSe)

Once, when Sam and Riley had been pretty drunk, Sam had asked Riley something about whether or not, if it was an option, he’d choose to have the wings attached to himself forever. Riley had snorted into his beer.

“Not on your fucking life, Sammy,” he’d said. “I’m not like you. I’m good at this, sure, but I’m still just a guy. Evolved out of the swamp or whatever, made to have my feet on the ground. You, though,” he’d said, pointing at Sam and hunching forward slightly over the table so Sam knew he was serious, “You were always meant to fly, Sammy. Like that guy, Icarus.” Sam had laughed.

“Icarus died, Riley,” he’d said. “He flew too close to the sun, his wings melted and he fell.” Riley had laughed, leaning forward and knocking his glass against Sam’s.

“Good thing we’ll never die,” he’d said with a wink.

Sam had thought about that conversation a lot in the months afterwards, had thought about it even more after Riley died and Sam was grounded and sent back to the States. When he’d first received his wings, they’d been just a piece of equipment, the thing that was going allow him to chase that rush of adrenaline to the brink of death, to _help_ people, really help people. Save them, even. They had been a tool. An impressive piece of machinery, sure, but nothing more. By the time he’d asked Riley that question, though, he’d realized he had begun to think of them as part of himself. Somewhere along the way, Sam had allowed himself to believe he would always be able to fly, had fallen in love with the feeling of air whipping past his face, with the ability to cut and twist and turn through the sky. To go where no one else could and help people no one else could. And when they were taken away he’d felt the ache of that loss every day until he’d snuck into a military base in broad daylight with two wanted fugitives to steal them back from the United States government.

Their companionable silence was broken, several hours into both of their repairs, by the sound of Sam’s stomach growling. Barnes looked over at him.

“Shut up,” Sam said, stretching. “No one asked you, Barnes.” Barnes set down his screwdriver and began closing his arm back up. Sam wasn’t sure if the way he was speaking to Barnes was really the best choice for a potentially volatile, recently freed prisoner of war, but Barnes hadn’t lashed out at him yet, so Sam was going to stick with it for now. He figured humour was always an okay starting point, until Barnes did something to indicate otherwise. When he did chance a glance at him, he found that the other man had stood up, shoving a wallet in his pocket. When he saw Sam looking, he twitched his head towards the door, scowl deepening.

“No idea what that means,” Sam said, voice slightly teasing as he stood. Barnes’ expression didn’t change at all, and Sam bit down on a smile as he walked out the door. He didn’t know what Barnes wanted, where the other man was taking him, but Sam figured at the least going outside would allow him to orient himself, now that he was no longer half-delirious with exhaustion and the lingering effects of being drugged. He might even be able to find somewhere where he could… well, he’d have to steal a phone, but still.

The city was beautiful, buildings glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. They walked a couple of blocks down to the waterfront, where Sam could see a tall green spire in the distance. Sam was doing the full tourist thing, craning his head around to look at everything, though he remained hyperaware of where Barnes was in proximity to both Sam and to the civilians surrounding them. Still, this was only his second time in Europe ever, and he couldn’t help but take in the architecture, the people, the crisp feel of the air as it brushed past them. He felt a brief pang that he didn’t have a camera with him, but he pushed it down, focusing on fully taking in what he was seeing in that moment.

He was also happy to have the chance to observe Barnes interact with the wider world, not just the concierge at the hotel (or the Hydra soldiers, for a loose definition of ‘interact’). Barnes, when dressed as a civilian, managed to shroud himself in the air of the most unremarkable and unmemorable man possible. He hunched into himself and transformed from someone built to tear men apart, trained to be a living weapon, to an ordinary man, tentatively smiling at old ladies. The imitation of normality, far from comforting Sam, actually put him more on edge, the ease of Barnes’ transformation sending spikes of anxiety through his gut. It spoke to his functionality, sure, to an awareness of himself, what he looked like, how he was acting, and how other people would perceive him. It also showed just how much Barnes could show people – could show Sam – only what he wanted them to see, while hiding everything else beneath the surface.

Despite how good of a job Barnes was doing in blending in with the general populace, Sam was still surprised to find that Barnes had led them to a farmers’ market. Sam was, at that point, starving, and more than happy to wander around, picking out anything that looked good and keeping an eye on Barnes. He was also still trying to gauge the effectiveness of the way he was addressing Barnes, the familiarity and informality of it. He watched Barnes haggle with an old woman over a bag of nectarines. Barnes was frowning at her, gesturing strongly, but she was holding her own, reaching out to jab at Barnes’ chest. Sam took half a step forward, but Barnes just grinned, laughing and saying something to the woman in German that made her blush.

“Guess Steve really wasn’t lying when he said you were a charmer with the ladies, eh?” Sam said when Barnes walked back to him, almost immediately regretting it as something incomprehensible slid across Barnes’ eyes. Barnes stiffened, and Sam could feel his own spine go rigid in response. Barnes didn’t do anything, however, and didn’t say anything, just turned to head back to their hotel room. They ate the nectarines on the walk back, though they still had cheese, salami, and fresh bread in the bag Sam was carrying. It was messy, juice dripping down his chin despite his best efforts, but he was far too hungry to care. Frowning, he licked up his arm, seeing Barnes twitch slightly out of the corner of his eye at the movement.

When they reached the room, Sam set the bag down on the table near the door. When he turned around, Barnes threw something at him, and he barely had enough time to get a hand up to catch it. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to find that he’d just snagged a grenade out of the air. Instead, it was a plastic package. Spinning it, he recognized it as a pre-paid cellphone, though he didn’t understand what the German writing on the outside said. Sam frowned as he looked up at Barnes, to find the other man looking back at him, face blank but somehow tired. Keeping a wary eye on the other man, Sam opened up the package. He held the phone in his hand for a long moment, weighing his options. He had to call Nick – had to let Fury, and everyone else, know that he was alive. He should tell him about Barnes. After everything, he couldn’t let Barnes disappear on him. But if he told them, they would come, Nick and Steve and whoever else, and however well they meant, they would take Barnes’ choices away from him. Sam might not have known much about this new man that had emerged from the ashes of what once was the Winter Soldier, but he knew that Barnes deserved to find out who he was on his own, to make his own choices for the first time in decades.

Sam took a deep breath before dialing a number he’d memorized months before. After listening to the recorded message at the other end informing him that the laundromat was closed for the day, Sam hung up. He only had to wait a minute before the phone in his hand came to life, ringing so loud he startled from the sound.

“Hello,” he said, accepting the call.

“Jesus, Wilson I thought you were dead.” Sam really thought he’d never see the day when he would find Nick Fury’s voice comforting, but here he was, almost sighing in relief at the sound.

“Nah,” Sam said. “Just temporarily incapacitated.”

“What is the name of the Widow’s favourite pet?” Fury asked. _Clint_ , Sam thought to himself, just as he had when Fury had first gone over the security protocols.

“Liho,” he said aloud.

“What happened? Bare bones, I don’t need a full report.” Sam sighed.

“I found the base. They caught me.” There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Fuck,” Nick said with feeling.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I escaped though, and the base was destroyed, so it all worked out in the end.”

“How did you escape?” Nick asked, and Sam glanced over at Barnes to find the other man staring somewhere across the room, face utterly, completely blank. Sam hadn’t realized how many small emotional indicators Barnes had been giving him until that moment, when they were all wiped away. Sam’s decision was made then, in that second before he spoke.

“I think it was the Winter Soldier,” Sam said, and watched Barnes twitch. “I didn’t see him,” Sam said, and Barnes slowly turned his head, blank nothingness morphing into a familiar scowl. “I was in a cell. But someone wasted all those soldiers, and I can’t think of anyone else with the motivation, skills, or resources. No one else that you wouldn’t have already known about.” There was another long silence in which Barnes continued to stare at Sam.

“Fuck,” Nick finally said, with feeling. “Okay, okay, get back stateside and-”

“Actually,” Sam said, interrupting the other man. “I was thinking I could stay over here for a bit. See if I can’t track Barnes down, or any other bases.” Another long silence, and Sam was hoping it wasn’t because Nick was trying to work out the root of the lie twined around Sam’s words.

“Sounds good, Wilson,” he finally said, and Sam couldn’t help but smile. “Call me if you find something. Two week check-ins even if you haven’t found anything. Don’t miss one.”

“No, sir,” Sam said, hesitating only for a second before speaking again. He felt a bit bad asking this in front of Barnes, but he needed to know– “Did you tell Steve I was missing?”

“Rogers was informed.”

“Fuck,” Sam said without thinking.

“I will let him know that I’ve heard from you,” Nick said, “but I would recommend getting in contact with him as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, I will,” Sam said, with no idea how he would manage to do so. He knew better than to ask Nick for some way to contact his friend over the phone, no matter how secure the line. Sam would have to think of something on his own.

“Good,” Nick said, and hung up. Sam blinked at the phone for a second. That man did not like to waste a single word, he thought as he shoved the phone in his pocket before turning to look at Barnes. Barnes had given Sam that phone fully expecting Sam to let Nick – and Steve, and whoever the hell else was interested, whoever the hell _Barnes_ thought was after him – know that Barnes was here. Barnes had been ready to be captured, ready to, again, hand over his autonomy to an organization.

Meeting Barnes’ eyes, Sam shrugged.

“I wasn’t quite done seeing Europe,” he said. “Besides, I’m pretty sure there’s a couple more Hydra bases around you could use some help taking apart.”

Barnes smiled, a bleak, vicious smile, and Sam couldn’t help but shudder.

This was going to be horrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okej - Swedish, okay?  
> Skit - Swedish, shit  
> Вы павінны піць ваду - Belarusian, you should drink water  
> Dŵr - Welsh, water  
> Diod - Welsh, drink  
> oedd bod mor chyfrgolla galed? - Welsh, was that so damn hard?  
> sprenging - Icelandic, explosion  
> Uppsveiflu - Icelandic, boom  
> Drepið þá alla - Icelandic, killed them all  
> Sei kein Arsch - German, don’t be an ass  
> Du musst später noch etwas Wesentliches essen. - German, you’ll have to eat something more substantial later


	4. It's like we're onto something

When Sam was nine years old he broke his arm.

His dad had only died five months earlier and Sam wasn’t, as his Ma diplomatically put it when talking to his aunts, handling it well. She had done her best for all of the kids, particularly in the midst of her own grief, finding every free resource for grieving kids she could scrounge up. The one that Sam remembered the most was the after school program run out of the community centre for kids that had lost a family member. Once a week, he and Gideon would walk over there after school while their Ma went and picked up Sarah from daycare. Gideon knew two other kids in the group, friends from school – one whose dad had died from cancer and another whose sister had been killed by her boyfriend. Sam didn’t know anyone, and while he didn’t really remember much about what they’d talked about, he did remembered that he’d hated being there. He’d hated the pitying looks the adults would shoot him, the way the other kids would talk to him like the things he was feeling were the exact same as what they were feeling.

It only took a month before Sam figured out that if he didn’t show up, no one would notice. The overtaxed volunteers easily overlooked (or just didn’t care about) another little black boy, and no one was reporting his absences back to his Ma. Gideon didn’t give a shit, so long as Sam was back by the time their Ma got there to pick them up. So, instead of spending an hour and a half sharing his feelings through stilted group exercises, Sam began to explore. The community centre itself was a large, squat concrete building, ugly as sin and almost as old as the neighborhood itself. It didn’t take him long to realize that trying to explore the centre itself, no matter how intriguing the unused areas were, only got him yelled at by janitors and the old white lady who worked reception and liked to patrol the building like she owned it.

Going outside only made him feel guilty for lying to his Ma in a way that lingering inside hadn’t managed to do. He couldn’t make it a block away before every warning his Ma had ever given him about wandering off by himself overwhelmed him completely and he had to turn around. The second time he tried, and failed, to make it to the corner store for a soda saw Sam heading back to the community centre, head hanging in defeat. Unwilling to go back inside the building, he instead spent a long moment staring up at its worn facade before deciding that walking around the outside of the building itself definitely didn’t count as wandering off by himself. He walked around the centre, fingers trailing across the rough outside of the building, eyes closed against the warmth of the sunlight against his skin. Sam found himself feeling calmer than he had since his Ma sat him and Gideon down and told them what had happened to their Dad. In the safe darkness of his own head, Sam was able to almost pretend that his Dad was there with him: large, warm hand lying on top of Sam’s head, his deep, rough voice asking him what he’d learned at school that day. Sam felt a tear slip out from under his closed eyelid as the wall disappeared from beneath his fingertips. He came to a stop and finally reopened his eyes.

He had walked the entire length to the back corner of the community centre, and was now staring in surprise at a rusted out old playground set enclosed with a locked fence. Swiping at his cheek, Sam wandered closer, eyes sweeping curiously across the two broken swings, the rusting slide. It only took him a couple of moments to figure out a way to wiggle between the edges of the fence, the long-ago half-hearted security measures of some bored construction worker no match for the determination of a curious nine-year-old. He walked around the set, slipping under and between poles and platforms, fascinated by the obvious decay of the playground, so similar to the one at his school. It didn’t take him long before, as is the habit of nine-year-olds all over the world, he managed to clamber up to the highest point of the structure, the roof covering the slide. He sat with a sense of satisfaction, enjoying the view from so high up. He let his eyes close again, tilting his head back to feel the sting of the sun against his skin. After a moment he also let himself lie back so that his whole back was laid out against the slope of the roof, wood warm under his back. He lay like that for a long time before he heard a noise. Opening his eyes, he saw a pair of birds, ravens, circling far above him, playing with each other in the air, swooping and diving. He stared at them for a long time, feeling more and more weightless, like he was up there in the sky with the birds.

To this day, Sam couldn’t say for certain what he was thinking in that moment. Riley had laughed at him when he’d told him the story while they were comparing injuries.

“Fuck man,” he’d said. “It’s just like I told your mom. You were made to fly. You just didn’t have your wings yet.” Sam didn’t know about that, but he did know that the feeling of that moment, that one glorious moment when he stepped off that roof, before he started to fall, had followed him his entire life.

Sometimes when Sam watched Barnes fight, the thought would come to him, unbidden, that if anyone could understand the seductiveness of a second’s worth of weightlessness, it would be the man who had spent decades in a cage.

He still remembered the fear, heart racing and adrenaline singing through his veins, when he’d fought the Winter Soldier on top of that helicarrier. Sometimes he couldn’t even look at Barnes for the memory of the other man kicking him off the ledge, the swooping nausea of spiraling towards the unforgiving ground, one wing gone. He’d thought a lot, travelling with Steve, searching for Barnes, about forgiveness, about accountability and blame. He didn’t blame Barnes, not really. Not after what Tash had released, not after all the files that he and Steve had found. He knew what had been done to Barnes. What Hydra had had to do to him to strip him of his agency and how hard Barnes had fought them every step of the way was the stuff that nightmares were made of. They had molded him into their perfect, malleable weapon, had taken everything good in him and burned it out until all that was left was anger and viciousness.

Free of Hydra’s control, Barnes still fought with an inhuman brutality. Even through his drugged haze, watching him fight in Switzerland had been vaguely nauseating, and it didn’t get better without the drugs. It took until the second base they stripped of its occupants before Sam recognized Barnes’ brutality for efficiency, a drive to burn through his captors as fast as possible, a rush towards complete freedom. It didn’t make it any less difficult to watch, however, as Barnes tore through men like a demon, like something inhuman and feral, ancient and unfeeling.

 

* * *

 

 

They were crossing Romania, a couple hours north of Târgu Jiu, and Sam had been making Dracula jokes for two days straight. Barnes, as far as Sam had been able to parse from the bizarre mix of Romanian, Sokovian, and hand gestures he’d been throwing around, was not impressed. That, of course, did not deter Sam at all.

“Man,” he said, panting slightly as he followed Barnes along the narrow path they were picking up the side of the mountain, “all I’m saying is that we’re in Romania. We’re climbing up the side of a mountain. To a castle controlled by an evil entity.” Sam paused a moment to try and catch his breath, watching as Barnes’ thigh muscles flexed as he easily navigated the path in front of him. It was moments like this that he really, really resented the supersoldier serum. Taking a deep breath, he resumed walking, shaking his head and looking down at the uneven stone pathway beneath his feet.

“I’m definitely Helsing,” he said. “I think that makes you Mina.” There was a pause in the noise of Barnes’ feet sliding against the rock, and Sam looked up to see Barnes glancing over his shoulder at Sam. “Not a Stoker fan?” He asked. Barnes’ scowl deepened, and Sam had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from laughing. Talking was one thing, but he was pretty sure that laughing would get him shot, either by Barnes or by however many Hydra operatives were lurking about on the side of the mountain.

“I mean,” he continued as Barnes turned back around and Sam reluctantly resumed walking, “it makes sense if you think about it.” He had to pause more and more for breath as he continued. Fuck, this was worse than running with Steve. “An evil lurking in the mountains– attacks the group that’s come to destroy it. It goes after one of– you to– turn you to its side– and then– then I think there’s werewolves?” Sam frowned down at his feet as he picks his way across a wash of scree. “I may be mixing that up with a movie,” he admitted as he finally stepped back onto the solid rock of the path, lifting his head. He was expecting to see Barnes still resolutely ignoring him, or maybe turning to glare at him, but instead the other man was staring up the side of the mountain, shoulders tense. Sam’s hand was at his waist, fingers curling around the grip of his gun, before he even made the conscious decision to move.

“What is it?” he whispered, knowing that Barnes’ enhanced hearing would pick up his words, no matter how soft. Barnes stood in silence for long enough that Sam began to get both pissed off and freaked out. There was a long, awful moment where Sam’s mind ran through a reel of terrible scenarios. One hand stayed on his gun while another reached up to brush against the straps of his wings, reassuring himself that they were still there. He felt an abrupt, jarring craving to be in the air, to be anywhere but waiting on the side of this mountain for whatever nightmare was currently hunting them to fall down on their head. The sound of the rockfall in Switzerland echoed in his head, and he clamped down on the urge to shiver. Finally, the tension drained from Barnes’ shoulders and he turned back to Sam, shaking his head.

“Am crezut că am auzit ceva,” he said, gesturing towards his ear.

“Yeah, I guessed that,” Sam said, voice sharper than he meant for it to be. “It was probably just a squirrel or something,” he said after a moment’s silence. Barnes raised an eyebrow before shrugging.

“Bine, dar când vom fi ucisi, e vina ta,” he said before turning and continuing forward. Sam shook his head in annoyance as he resumed walking behind the other man. His fingers itched to move and he let them, the pad of the thumb tapping against the other fingers in turn. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand where Barnes’ paranoia came from, or really begrudged it at all, but it was exhausting, and it was putting Sam on edge.

They had been travelling together for just less than two weeks, taking down two bases and a handful of safe houses on their rush through southern Europe. Without any independent intelligence pointing him in any other direction, Sam followed Barnes’ lead. The other man seemed to have extensive knowledge of Hydra’s European operations, though whether that knowledge was from memories or from what Tash had dumped onto the internet, Sam didn’t know. Sam was having trouble gauging how lucid Barnes was, how much he remembered. The blankness of his expression, only occasionally interrupted by ripples of emotions, made it near impossible for Sam to judge his mood. And he did have moods. Though he was happy to spend most of his time standing guard and cleaning his weapons, he would have fits of anger that, when they were without Hydra soldiers to fight, would manifest themselves in the other man tearing apart whatever room they were staying in. He had once so utterly destroyed the room they were staying in that they’d been forced to disappear into the night without explanation for fear of drawing attention to themselves.

He was gentle with Sam though, in a way that Sam had difficulty reconciling with the violence that burned at the core of the other man. Sam didn’t know if it was out of some kind of guilt or if, outside of Hydra, this was how Barnes interacted with people.

Sometimes Sam felt he could choke on everything he didn’t know.

Sam still hadn’t figured out a way to securely contact Steve, though he had to admit that he hadn’t been trying very hard. Barnes probably knew a way, but Sam was happy to use the excuse of their language barriers not to ask him. He still didn’t know what to tell Steve about Barnes, about Switzerland and his decision to lie to Fury. There was a satisfaction in helping Barnes tear apart the men and women that had turned him into something between machine and monster that came not from the violence of it, but from the knowledge that this was Barnes asserting himself for the first time in decades.

Barnes was free, and Sam didn’t want to do anything that might take that away from him.

The sections of the path covered in scree were getting more and more frequent the higher they rose through the mountains, slowing their progress significantly. The loose stones over the smooth rock face was a treacherous combination, and Sam had almost slipped a couple times, rocks sliding under his feet as his heart leapt into his throat. Wings or no wings, Sam was not really feeling falling off a cliff that particular day. It was with a great sense of relief that Sam looked up after a particularly shitty bit of path to see that the narrow path was turning inwards on the mountain and heading into the dense forest that intermittently covered the sides of the mountain. Not for the first time that day, he cursed Hydra in his head for being such extra, overdramatic motherfuckers when they picked out where to build their headquarters.

Barnes glanced at Sam again before they headed into the forest, and Sam tried his best not to feel any sort of way about how the other man kept checking on Sam. Instead, he adjusted his rifle, touched the straps of his wings again, a final reassurance, before following Barnes into the dense darkness of the woods. The cooler air of the forest hit him at the same time as the earthy scent of it, and he was abruptly, involuntarily reminded of the forest in Switzerland where he and Barnes had first found each other.

“I better not fall down a hole in the ground this time,” Sam said, and Barnes snorted, shooting him a look that was equal parts confused and amused.

“Ще трябва да ви спася отново, ако го направите,” Barnes said, his tone light and teasing and Sam got the feeling he was being made fun of even if he couldn’t understand what Barnes was saying. They fell into silence after that, Sam’s tension alleviated slightly by both their exchange and the cover the forest provided. Not only did he not have to worry half as much about where his feet were landing, he also didn’t feel half as exposed, though he knew that the additional cover benefited their enemies just as much as them. There was a reason that guerrilla warfare worked so well in forested areas. Still, with the woods alive with the sounds of birds and small animals moving through the underbrush, and sunlight spilling through the leaves, it was hard to stay anxious and annoyed. The slope was also much gentler than the previous section of the trail, and Sam was thankful for the reprieve.

They had been in the forest for less than half an hour when Barnes stopped abruptly, and Sam’s stomach jolted. His hand automatically fell to his gun once again. Barnes’ head was cocked to the side as he scanned the forest, his fist clenching and unclenching as his other hand, like Sam’s, reached for his gun. Sam hadn’t heard anything, but as they stood there he strained to catch something in the silence.

It took a long moment before he realized what was wrong. He swallowed, throat clicking dryly. The sounds of the forest had cut off: no more birds, no more rustling in the underbrush. His skin prickled with the unnaturalness of it as he scanned the treeline. He stepped forward and Barnes shifted back and just like that they were back to back. After a few long, tense minutes, nothing had materialized out of the woods. Sam dropped his hand to tap Barnes’ hip, turning to make eye contact with the other man. Sam raised an eyebrow in question, and Barnes bit his lip before shrugging and nodding.

They kept walking, but both men now had their guns drawn and at the ready. They were moving much slower, scanning the forest as they went, and Sam found himself hoping that the sounds of nature would pick up again. The silence was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. There shouldn’t be anything that could just silence all of the animals like that, or drive them all away without a sound. Nothing natural could do that, and Sam’s stomach rolled with anticipation. Something was coming, and he was certain that he wasn’t going to like it.

Between one breath and another, the realization that there was no way he was going to be able to activate his wings hit, and his pulse jumped. Sam began to mentally catalogue all of the weapons on him. He tried not to feel claustrophobic as he counted his knives and guns. They were well armed. He was proficient in hand-to-hand combat and was an excellent marksman. It would be fine, even if he couldn’t fly. He found himself sinking back into the mindspace he’d occupied when he was deployed, waiting in the sand for hours and hours for something horrible to happen. It was a quiet space inside his head, slightly dissociated from reality even as he was so painfully aware of his surroundings that he could feel every rock and root as he stepped on them.

He was as ready as he could be for whatever was coming for them.

It was another hour before something happened, and it was so subtle that Sam might have missed it if he wasn’t hyperaware of the forest around them. It wasn’t much, just a flash of movement in the trees, something dark passing soundlessly through the trunks. Sam spun towards it, gun raised, and he felt Barnes move back into position behind him, guarding his back.

“There’s something in the woods,” he said.

“можеш ли да го видиш?” Barnes asked, and Sam abruptly felt more frustrated with Barnes’ verbal aphasia than he had in a long time.

“It was just a flash of movement in the trees,” Sam whispered. “Something dark. Something big.”

They stood in silence after that, but after five long minutes Sam was forced to stand down, releasing some of the tension held in his limbs. He and Barnes turned to look at each other, and it was when they made eye contact that something burst out of the underbrush, hurtling towards Barnes’ back. Sam moved without thinking, trained instincts taking over as he shoved Barnes down and raised his arm, firing straight into the centre mass of the thing racing towards them. There was a yelp, and the thing twisted midair, spinning and disappearing back into the forest as abruptly as it had appeared.

Barnes stood up from the awkward crouch Sam had shoved him into, eyes wide.

“I don’t fucking know,” Sam replied to the unspoken question, voice more shaky than he’d like. His gun was still raised, scanning the forest, and Barnes took up his position at Sam’s back, watching the forest on the other side of the path. Sam was struck with the shivering realization that there might be more than one of them, whatever they were – he had first seen something on his side, but whatever it was had come out of the forest on Barnes’ side.

“Did you see it?” He asked Barnes, happy to hear his voice was steady again. “It looked like, fuck, I don’t even know. Some sort of wolf?” Sam hadn’t been able to make out much, the animal’s fur so black it seemed to swallow all light, making it difficult to pick out its features. It had been huge, with long teeth shockingly white against its fur.

He scanned the woods but there was no sign of the animal, whatever it had been. Sam eyed the dark splash of blood across the dirt where he’d managed to hit it, shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight. He felt his skin crawl. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been natural, and he had a sinking feeling that they had finally run into Hydra’s defenses for this particular outpost.

It was Barnes’ turn to tap Sam, and Sam sighed.

“Yeah,” he said, and they resumed their forward momentum, slower than ever. Sam sunk into his training as he pushed down the instinct to flick his eyes frantically across the forest, instead sweeping the trunks with slow, even scans. As alarming as the lack of other sounds were – and it still made Sam’s skin crawl – it did make it easier to focus, no other movement to distract him.

When the next attack came, there was no sounds to warn of its approach, no twigs snapping, no plants rustling. The forest was empty and then it wasn’t, an animal exploding out of the shadows, large black body hurtling towards Sam.

“Fuck,” he said, raising his gun. As his finger twitched to pull back on the trigger a weight slammed into his back, sending him stumbling forward and his gun firing uselessly at the dirt. He didn’t have time to look at what the fuck Barnes was doing, because the animal was suddenly right in front of him, bright yellow eyes glowing unnaturally out of its dark fur as it stared at him. A low snarl crept out of depths of the creature’s throat and Sam’s bones reverberated with the unnaturalness of the noise. He moved to aim his gun again, but it was moving before he had the chance, mouth opening wider than any animals should be able to as it tried to close its jaws around Sam’s arm. Sam managed to jerk his arm back just in time. He wasn’t completely out of the creature’s reach; the hard edge of the animal's jaw cracked down on Sam’s arm instead. He grunted. Pain shot up his arm, and his gun dropped from numb fingers.

Dropping, Sam rolled backwards to put more distance between himself and the creature. He came up out of the roll with his knife in hand. He saw movement from where Barnes had been, but didn’t let himself turn to look. His attention was focused on the creature stalking slowly towards him, its mouth open and tongue lolling out between teeth as long as Sam’s fingers.

It lunged and Sam moved, ducking down and waiting until the creature was almost on top of him before driving his knife upward, putting as much strength behind the motion as he could. He let out a small noise, half surprise and half triumph, as the knife found its target, the sharp blade easily sliding into the creature’s flesh. Warm blood washed across his hands and he carried through the motion, pushing up from the crouch he was in and putting his entire body behind driving the knife as deeply as possible. He knew he’d found his target when the animal’s entire weight suddenly crashed down on top of him.

Sam cursed and kicked it to the side, his knife protruding from the base of its jaw where Sam had jammed it up through its mouth and into its brain. Movement flashed out of the corner of his eye, and he turned, pulling his other gun from the holster at his ankle as he did so. He had just enough time to take in the sight of Barnes punching another one of the creatures in the face with his metal fist. The creature yelped, then growled when it turned its head and saw Sam standing over the body of the other animal. It turned, disappearing into the forest just as suddenly as it had appeared, and Barnes looked at Sam only for a second, eyes wide, before returning to watching the trees.

“I’m fine,” Sam said as he stood. Reaching down, he braced his foot against the thing’s jaw and pulled his knife loose with a wet noise. He walked back to Barnes, picking up his other gun as he did. His arm was throbbing where the creature had smashed into it, but it wasn’t broken, so he ignored it. He glanced at Barnes, who scanned down Sam’s body quickly, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Seriously,” he said, “I’m fine.” Barnes sleeve was torn up and dark with blood, whether his own or the creature’s Sam didn’t know. It had only taken one base for Sam to realize that Barnes wouldn’t tell him if he was hurt even if he had the language to do so, but Barnes seemed to be operating just fine, hand not even shaking on his gun. Sam decided to ignore it for now.

“Do you think there is more than the two of them?” he asked, looking to where the creature had disappeared back into the forest. Barnes shrugged, raising his metal hand parallel to the ground and twisting his wrist back and forth. Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I hope not too,” he said. He turned back to where the body of the one he’d managed to kill was lying, Barnes shadowing him as Sam knelt next to the corpse of the creature. It was huge, closer in size to a bear than a wolf, though its muzzle and skull were distinctly canine in shape. Its teeth were so large that Sam wasn’t sure it would be able to close it’s mouth properly, and he shuddered to imagine what would have happened to his arm if it had been able to get ahold of him. He didn’t really know enough about animals to do any real analysis of the creature, but as he stood, Barnes crouched, reaching out to prod at the creature. Sam scanned the treeline as Barnes examined the corpse, only turning to look at him when the other man once again straightened up.

“Any ideas?” Sam asked, and Barnes shook his head, brow furrowed.

When they resumed walking Sam was just as on edge before, though he did feel a bit better knowing that he’d already managed to kill one of the creatures. Given everything else that he’d seen in the last couple of years, he figured it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that they might have had impenetrable skin or something else like that. They walked for long enough that Sam was torn between hoping that the thing had just decided to give up on attacking them after its companion’s death and the suspicion that it was trying to get them to lower their guard. Since their MO seemed to be staying invisible until they attacked, he wasn’t holding out a lot of hope for the first option.

The forest was beginning to thin, and Sam could see rock rising from behind the trees ahead when it came for them again.

It came snarling out of the trees, running low to the ground before it abruptly launched itself into the air, straight for Barnes. Sam raised his gun, quickly moving backwards to get Barnes out of his line of sight. Barnes didn’t move, watching the thing’s approach with an impassive expression on his face. Sam didn’t have time to do anything else before the thing reached Barnes and the other man exploded into motion, twisting to the side of the creature and reaching out with his hands. He managed to grab ahold of the thing by the head, and his entire body flexed as he gripped and _twisted_. The crack of the creature’s neck snapping was startlingly loud in the silence, followed by the thud as Barnes dropped its body back on the ground.

“Fuck,” Sam said, eyes wide as he looked at the mass of black fur lying on the ground.

It was only a second later that a bird trilled out of a nearby tree, and Sam jerked towards the sound. The forest filled back up with sound just as abruptly and unnaturally as it had drained of it, and Sam felt the tension slip from his shoulders. He turned back to the other man to see Barnes nudging the creature with his boot. He looked up at Sam, eyes shining with something similar to humour.

“Were those the werewolves you were talking about?” he asked, voice thready with exhaustion. Sam blinked at him before laughing in surprise.

 

* * *

 

They made their way through the rest of Romania and most of the Ukraine in only a week.

Sam was surprised to learn, the more he and Barnes spoke, how much he liked Barnes. His expressions still tended towards the robotic, but beneath that was a sense of humour that Sam was amazed had survived the years with Hydra. Barnes had a sharp wit that – as soon as Barnes accepted that Sam wasn’t going to lash out at him – he had no problem turning on Sam, to Sam’s delight. There was a reason that Sam was such good friends with Steve, despite the other man being a complete jackass, and that apparently translated just as easily to Steve’s best friend.

Sam found himself uncomfortable with just how easy it was to slip into a familiar back-and-forth with Barnes, and how quickly the two of them developed habits structured around each other. Sam felt there was a danger there, in that reliance that built so quickly when you were dependant on just one other person to have your back for a long time. Resisting that comfort became something that Sam had to consciously work towards. Sometimes, it meant that Sam quietly reminded himself, whenever he caught himself looking too long at the other man as if he was just another way to fly, of the feeling of him tearing off Sam’s wing. It meant conjuring up the picture of Steve, unconscious in a hospital bed, and the way his face had crumpled when he’d woken up and Sam had told him there was no sign of Barnes. It meant reminding himself, over and over again, that that moment of freedom was always followed by a sudden, painful fall.

The train to Minsk had just passed through Zhytomyr when Barnes stood, stretching, and announcing his intention to find some food. Sam barely bothered to look up from his book, muttering something vaguely affirmative as Barnes brushed past him, heading back down the train car. He hadn’t been gone long before someone else moved past Sam, a woman wearing a long black coat with short blonde hair.

Sam glanced at the woman as she settled into the seat across from him, before returning his gaze to the book in his lap. It took a moment, but eventually Sam’s eyes widened in recognition, and he only barely resisted the instinct to snap his head back up. He shut his book slowly, marking the page and holding it in his lap before finally raising his head.

“Hello Natasha,” he said. She smiled at him, face familiar even when framed by unfamiliar blonde hair, cut close to the sides of her head.

“I didn’t think you were going to recognize me for a minute,” she teased gently, smiling at him. Sam grinned back at her.

“You’re good, but not that good.”

“Or I’m just not actually trying,” she said, and Sam laughed.

“Or that,” he agreed.

“I came to give you something,” she said, abrupt as she ever was, reaching into her bag. Sam, familiar with her mannerisms (even if she would deny having any), smiled and leaned back in his seat. In the back of his head, he wondered about where Barnes was, but decided not to worry about it. He was sure Tash was very, very aware of exactly where Barnes was.

“Here,” she said, pulling out a small silver flip phone and putting it in Sam’s hand when he reached forward.

“A flip phone?” he said, turning it with his fingers. “What year is it, 2005?” Tash rolled her eyes at him.

“Substance over style,” she said. “Besides, that phone has something that only three other phones on the planet has.”

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Steve’s phone number,” she said. Sam smiled at that, ignoring the mingled guilt and apprehension in his chest that he would no longer be able to avoid this conversation. Still, there was a comfort in the weight of the phone in his hand, and in the thought of getting to speak to Steve again after so long.

“Thanks Tash,” he said, letting all the sincere gratitude he felt show in his voice, and enjoying the way she squirmed slightly. “I really, really appreciate this.”

She didn’t say anything, just scowled slightly, and Sam laughed. “Too much?” he teased. “Should I try again with less genuine human emotions?” She rolled her eyes, before her face turned suddenly serious.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Sam?” she asked, leaning forward and meeting his eyes. Sam considered saying something flip, but he hesitated, before deciding he at least owed her honesty in this. Especially since she’d obviously not told anyone else about Barnes, and the secrets Sam was keeping.

“No,” he admitted, “but when have I ever?” Tasha didn’t laugh, and Sam sighed, shaking his head. “He doesn’t want to go back,” Sam said, hesitating before continuing. “I think he’s earned the right to make his own decisions after everything.” Tasha tilted her head.

“I don’t disagree with you but... why?” she asked, voice showing genuine curiosity. Sam frowned.

“Why what?” he asked. She raised her hands, gesturing around them.

“Why you? Why stay with him? Why not just let him go, like you told Nick?”

Sam bit his lip, considering his answer for a moment.

“You told me something once, about red in your ledger.”

“You don’t have any red in your ledger,” she said, almost before he finished speaking. “Sam, if you think that something, anything, you’ve done means-”

“No,” Sam said, holding up his hands, “no, it’s not that, it’s just… if it was just Barnes dealing out retribution to Hydra for what they did to him, that would be… whatever, but it’s not that. What they’ve done to so many people, are still doing to people… those people deserve to have their murderers held accountable for the blood on their hands.”

“But why are you doing it, Sam?” Tash asked, her voice quiet and intense. “I get Barnes, whether it’s his vengeance or it’s for every other person. I understand him.” Sam swallowed at the look in her eyes, thinking about everything that he knew about her, about what had been done to her and how she had been created in turn. “But I don’t get why you’re doing it, Sam. Why are you still with Barnes?”

Sam shrugged, a strange, jerky movement.

“Maybe he’s not the only one wanting to bite back, Tash,” he said, harsher than he meant to. The spy frowned back at him.

“They didn’t do anything to you, Sam,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “They don’t have to have hurt me. They’ve hurt plenty of people who didn’t have the chance to fight back.” Natasha considered him for a long moment.

“And that’s worth all this?” she finally asked. Sam sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face before leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped between them.

“What I’ve seen in their bases, Tash… just the bodies, and that one base in the States… what the files say… what if there’s more people left alive in their bases? How can I abandon them to death or worse, if Hydra decides to keep them alive?” Tash looked at him for a long moment.

“You’re not abandoning them,” she said. “They’re not your responsibility, Sam. It’s not your fault if you can’t make it to them, if you have to-”

“Stop,” Sam said, interrupting her. “I know what you’re doing and just don’t, Tash.”

Natasha raised her hands in surrender. “Just think about it,” she said, just before her eyes flicked to somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. Her expression didn’t change, but Sam could sense it anyways.

“He’s back?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I just want you to be safe Sam,” she said, returning her eyes to his, focusing all the intensity in her gaze directly at him. Sam had spent weeks suffering under Barnes’ wordless gaze before he started speaking however, and was immune.

“I haven’t been safe in years, Tash,” he said, watching something like guilt flash across her face, knowing that she was letting him see it. “You know that.” He paused. “But I do know what I’m doing.” She gave him a look that spoke volumes, one eyebrow rising slightly. “Kinda,” he admitted. “I’ll be fine.” She looked at him for a long moment.

“Call me if you need to,” she finally said, standing. Sam felt air move against the back of his neck as someone came up behind him. He didn’t turn his head to look at Barnes. Instead he watched the complex array of emotions that flashed across Tasha’s face as she met Barnes’ eyes. Turning back to Sam, she pulled a file out of her bag and handed it to him.

“If you’re headed where I think you are, you’ll want this,” she said, before looking back at Barnes. After a long moment, she said something to him in Russian. She didn’t wait for a response from Barnes, just turned and headed down the aisle of the train, in the opposite direction of Barnes. A moment later, Barnes settled into the seat across from Sam.

Sam searched his face for any sign that Barnes was shaken by Tash’s presence on the train, or the fact that she’d somehow managed to find them despite them living off of stolen funds and travelling towards a destination known only to Barnes. Barnes was as impassive as he was on his worst days, however, and Sam couldn’t get a read on him.

“You freaking out?” Sam asked. He had thought they were getting over Barnes blank facing him all the time, but apparently not. Which, he figured, might be a very good sign that he was, in fact, freaking out. Sam shifted to the edge of his seat, trying to subtly get ready to jump up if he needed to grab Barnes, to calm him down. Barnes glanced down at Sam’s legs, then back up at his face. His expression managed to communicate that he knew exactly what Sam was doing, and he wasn’t impressed.

“Je ne suis pas-” Barnes started, then paused, clearing his throat. “I am not freaking out,” he said, after a moment, voice rough. Sam hesitated, then decided not to point out the obvious slip in Barnes’ language.

“Okay, man,” he said instead. “Whatever you say.” Barnes narrowed his eyes at Sam, but didn’t say anything else, Sam waited a moment, trying to gauge how upset Barnes actually was, before deciding that there wasn’t really any point in putting it off – Barnes was going to be unhappy with it no matter what.

“I’m going to have to tell Steve,” Sam said abruptly, and he didn’t have to look at Barnes to feel the way the other man stiffened. “Natasha gave me a phone, and I haven’t… I’m not in contact with him right now, but eventually.” He glanced over at Barnes, who nodded jerkily. “No one’s going to take your agency again though,” Sam said. “You’re free. I won’t let them.” Barnes nodded again, but Sam could tell that he didn’t believe him.

 

* * *

 

 

Fortunately, they made it the rest of the way to Minsk without incident. Sam didn’t bother to look for Natasha as they exited the train. Even if she had stayed on the train for the entire journey, he doubted he would be able to pick her out of the crowd of passengers flooding the platform. Barnes probably could, but he seemed more focused on glaring at the people in his way until they noticed him, blanched, and jumped out of his way. Sam followed, enjoying the empty path left in Barnes’ wake as he carried his bag across the platform. Barnes had fumed the entire remainder of the trip, and had almost growled when he’d looked through the file that Natasha had given them.

They were only in Minsk for a couple of days, a quick stopover until they headed onwards to Russia. Barnes had mentioned the Red Room in conjunction with the Hydra operations they would be disrupting in Russia, so of course the folder Tasha had given them contained sheets and sheets of detailed intel on the Red Room. Sam figured Barnes was pretty solidly torn between pissed off that Tasha had figured him out like that, and happy for the additional intel.

Barnes led them to a vacant Hydra safe house in Minsk that they cleared of cash and weapons before changing the security over to lock out any Hydra agents that tried to come for them. There was an old fireplace in the sitting room, so Sam lit a fire. He and Barnes spent their first night in Minsk flipping through, then burning, the Hydra files they had found in the safe house. They didn’t contain any new information, and Sam took the same satisfaction seeing them burn as he did every time they watched a Hydra base burn to the ground. Barnes had tried to argue with him, the first time he’d seen Sam complete this ritual.

“Why destroy them? The Widow already put everything online,” he’d asked.

“Not everything,” Sam had said, flipping through another file. “The stuff that’s relevant, that’s new, me and St– I pass on to Nick.”

“And then destroy the originals?”

“There’s a lot of people, and organizations, other than Hydra that shouldn’t get their hands on this information,” Sam had pointed out. “And the documents about people… they deserve some dignity, even in death.”

“And the ones already online?” Barnes had asked. “You say you treat them differently based on what they contain, but in the end you burn them all.”

Sam had shrugged, half-smiling up at Barnes. “Don’t you ever want to burn something just for the sake of burning it?” Barnes had looked at Sam for a long moment before picking up a file and tossing it into the fire. Sam had watched the flickering of the flames reflected in his eyes.

“Fire cleanses,” Barnes said, so softly that Sam couldn’t be sure that Barnes was actually talking to him.

Barnes’ paranoia had been getting worse the closer they got to Russia, and though there was a voice in the back of his head telling him he probably shouldn’t indulge it, Sam couldn’t help but match Barnes’ increasing level of tension. He also couldn’t even argue that Barnes’ paranoia was unfounded. There was literally a secret organization of killers hunting both of them. Besides, Sam couldn’t pretend that having the door triple-locked and wherever they were staying swept multiple times didn’t make him feel better as well. So when Barnes made motions to just have them sleep on the floor in the sitting room, the one room in the house without windows, Sam didn’t even think to argue. They dragged the mattress in from the other room, and Barnes, after a brief exchange of glares with Sam, took first watch. Sam glanced at his bag, briefly remembering that he now had Steve’s number and could contact his friend for the first time in weeks. He was too tired to deal with Steve right then, however, and he rolled over and let himself drift off.

He woke several hours later to his shoulder being roughly jostled, Barnes’ face hovering inches away from his. Sam most certainly did not yelp as he shoved himself sideways across the mattress, putting some distance between the two of them.

“What the fuck, dude?” he asked. Barnes face didn’t change as he tracked Sam’s movement across the mattress.

“You were screaming,” he said, and Sam froze.

In the first nightmare Sam could ever remember having, he was running. There was something in the darkness chasing him, and in the dream Sam knew that it didn’t matter how fast he was or how far he ran, he could never outrun what was chasing him. He doesn’t remember how old he was, but he still remembers how it felt to wake up that morning, with the terror of the dream still shivering through him. As he grew older, his nightmares would occasionally still hold that primal fear of the darkness, of being _hunted_. Far more often, however, they would involve his daily life, his classmates and family, everyday situations that still inspired fear, but nowhere near the kind of base, instinctive fear that sent his instincts screaming. After Afghanistan, that changed.

Sam doesn’t remember if he dreamed while he was overseas. He must have. He didn’t think people ever stopped dreaming, whether they remembered them or not. He sometimes thought that it was just one of those things that he would never remember, like what he’d done the morning of his father’s funeral, or the entire week when he got back to the States after Riley died. He thinks if he did dream, he probably dreamt of sand.

He had almost asked, a couple times, if Steve ever dreamed about watching Barnes fall, because that was all Sam had dreamt about when he returned from Afghanistan. He would wake up, arms outstretched, always hoping for a different result, always helpless to do anything but watch Riley fall, watch him die over and over again.

That was when he’d started waking up screaming.

Sometimes, he’d dream that it had happened the other way. That the RPG had hit him instead, and he could feel himself being torn apart as he fell and fell and fell. The VA had helped a lot with the nightmares, once he’d started going. Sharing his story, and talking with other people helped – and helping other people helped even more.

Falling down that hole in Switzerland had not helped.

The nightmares had been getting worse since he had joined Steve’s band of merry misfits, but he’d had them under control. He had a much better grip on his PTSD than when he’d first been discharged. He hadn’t woken up screaming in years, and that didn’t change when he joined Steve. Until now, apparently.

Barnes was very good at keeping his expression blank. When Sam had first met him on the bridge, his eyes had been so terrifyingly empty that Sam had questioned if there was anything left of Barnes left in him to save. In the last couple of weeks, however, Barnes had been increasingly emotive, whether inadvertently or by conscious decision. As he and Sam stared at each other, worry was obvious in Barnes’ eyes even as his face remained impassive.

“Sorry,” Sam finally said, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Do you want me to take over watch since I’m awake?” Barnes didn’t respond, and after a minute Sam stopped rubbing at his eyes to look up. Barnes was frowning at him now.

“You were screaming,” he repeated.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam said. “PTSD gets the best of us all sometimes, eh?”

“PTSD,” Barnes repeated slowly.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “I think they called it shell shock in your day?” Barnes face twitched in something that might have been understanding, before falling back into familiar blankness. His eyes searched Sam’s face, and Sam was too tired to guess at what Barnes might see there, or to try and control what he could see.

“You should sleep more,” was all Barnes finally said. “I’ll wake you up again to take watch later.”

 

* * *

 

A couple hours before they were going to leave Minsk, Sam called Steve.

Barnes had left him alone in a coffeeshop near the train station in favour of browsing a nearby used bookstore. Sam could catch the occasional glimpse of him from across the street as he moved through the stacks, pulling out books. Barnes turned out to have an affinity for sci-fi, language and quality irrelevant. He picked them up wherever they were, devouring them in the silence of their long stretches of travel. The covers were Sam’s favourite part: images of half-naked women in space, bodies contorted into strange positions as they held a gun and looked afraid; of strange, alien landscapes filled with towering buildings or bizarre rock formations; robots, shiney and chrome and clunky-looking, billowing red clouds filling the sky behind them.

Sam turned his tiny cup of espresso on its plate before reaching out to lightly touch the phone sitting on the table next to it. Letting out a breath, he laid his hands flat on the table. He was beginning to feel guilty for not letting anyone aside from Natasha know that he’d found the missing man, but he also couldn’t figure out a way to tell Steve that wouldn’t involve him dropping everything and racing around the world to meet up with him. He’d waited so long now, so long that he didn’t know how Steve would react to knowing that Sam had been with Barnes for weeks without telling him.

He thought back to the look on Barnes’ face when he’d given Sam the phone to call Fury, the resigned hunch of his shoulders. He remembered the same way Steve had hunched into himself after every single dead-end, every time they didn’t find Barnes. He thought about how he had felt, travelling around Europe with Barnes the last couple of months, and what it had been like to see Barnes tear through a Hydra base, how he had just begun to learn more about the other man. He thought about how his nightmares were getting worse, what his Ma would say about that, and what Riley would have said.

Sam picked up the phone and dialed with no idea what he was going to say.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sam.”

“Sam!” Sam winced at how happy Steve sounded to hear from him.

“Hey,” he said again, and then paused.

“Nick told me what happened,” Steve said, “I’m so happy you’re okay, Sam. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you. I tried to… but it didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“No big,” Sam said, “I got out in the end, and the base got destroyed, so it all works out.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and they both sit in the silence for a moment.

“Okay,” Steve finally said, “I heard that Bucky got you out.” Sam froze, heart jumping.

“What?” he said.

“I heard that Bucky got you out,” Steve said. “That’s what Tasha said anyways, and you’ve been… travelling together.”

 _Fuck_ , he thought, as his choices about what to say to Steve abruptly dwindled.

“You knew?” he said without thinking.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Tasha convinced me not to go after you, and there’s this… thing in Sokovia. A base. We’re headed there in a few days, so…”

“So she less convinced you and more relied on your absurdly self-sacrificial sense of duty to waylay you,” Sam said dryly, well aware that he was deflecting. It was worth it though, for the way Steve burst out laughing.

“Jesus Sam, I don’t talk to you for a month and then you just fucking murder me.”

“Sorry man,” Sam said, grinning. “I just can’t help it.” There was a moment of silence, before Sam tentatively continued. “So… are we good?”

“I’m not gonna say I’m not… upset,” Steve said. “But I trust you Sam. Whatever your reasons were, I’m sure they were good ones.” Sam’s eyes cut across the street to the back of Barnes’ head, bun holding his hair out of his face as he held an animated discussion with the sales clerk.

“And I trust you to tell me when you’re ready to… when he’s ready to see me,” Steve continued.

“I will,” Sam promised, meaning it. “I just don’t know when that’ll be, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, and Sam was torn between being sad that his friend had such difficulty expressing his pain and relief that, in this case, he wasn’t going to have to confront that hurt. His guilt around not telling Steve, his guilt over potentially taking away Barnes’ agency, and his annoyance that he felt even a bit of guilt about either of those things were tangled together into such a mess he wasn’t sure he could parse it out if he tried.

“I’m-” Sam started, but was interrupted by a banging noise from the other end of the line.

“Fuck,” Steve said, and then there was a pause in which Sam could hear some muffled conversation. “I’ve got to go,” Steve finally said. “Call me? Even if you can’t tell me… whatever, I miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss you too,” Sam said, and the line went dead.

Sam set down the phone, staring at it on the table as his heart-rate slowly returned to normal. He felt a bit better about the whole situation now, but still felt like he was being suspended between the two men. He knew, though, if pushed, he would defend Barnes’ right to make his own choices about who he talked to and when. He reached out and spun the phone, feeling both happy and annoyed. He didn’t look up until Barnes slid into the seat across from him. The other man tilted his head, narrowing his eyes and staring at Sam until Sam finally broke eye contact.

“We’d better go,” he said, standing. “Don’t want to miss the train.” Barnes narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything else, just stood up and followed Sam towards the platform.

 

* * *

 

The train ride to Moscow was long, and Barnes and Sam didn’t talk much for the first half of it. There were four other people shoved in the small space with them, and the springs in the worn seats squeaked if anyone did anything more strenuous than breathing. The elderly man sitting next to Sam had fallen asleep pretty much as soon as he had sat down, though Sam was at a loss as to how anyone could sleep in those seats. He was pretty sure he’d slept on more comfortable rocks (and at least rocks didn’t have questionable stains on them). The three other passengers were young, possibly students, two men and a woman who had been speaking to each other in rapid Russian nearly the entire time. They’d pulled out books when they’d first sat down but didn’t seem to have any intention of actually reading them, judging by how engaged they were in their conversation, hands flying as they emphasized their words. Barnes, meanwhile, was reading one of the new books he’d picked up in Minsk, entire body curled towards the window and the fading daylight. Sam looked at him for a long moment, then turned and stared out at the darkening landscape as he’d been doing for the past several hours. He wished he had a book with him, though he doubt he’d be able to concentrate with everything else running through his head.

He kept coming back to the question of _why_ , all of his thoughts circling back to that, again and again. Every single sensible instinct he had kept telling him that he should go home and stop this furtive and bloody quest for vengeance. He knew the past few months in particular had begun to tug at the edges of his PTSD, picking off raw threads to torture him with at night, and it would only get worse with every base they went into, with every nightmare he added. _If you have the ability to help people,_ he thought as the train swept through fields of wheat, _don’t you also have the responsibility to do it?_ He knew, though, that he had been helping lots of people back in DC, that there were a hundred other ways that he could help people, and a hundred other ways he could put his training as a counsellor to use.

Sam’s Ma liked to say that he’d been born without the good sense God gave a goose. Riley had always laughed when she said that, reaching up to clasp Sam’s shoulder, shaking the other man.

“No, ma’am,” he’d say. “But he was born to fly.”

Sometimes, he wondered just how true that was. If he could ever be fully happy with his feet on the ground.

It was dark out when Barnes finally gave up the fight to read in the quickly diminishing light, shooting a look of betrayal up at the weak cabin light as he closed his book. The old man had started awake just as the sun had finished setting, and had been reciting something – probably prayers, judging by the rosary beads clicking together as they passed through his boney fingers – under his breath ever since. The three young people were still talking, though the pauses in their conversation had drawn longer and longer as the day wore on. Barnes glanced at them, then turned to look out the window for a few minutes, before he turned to Sam.

“I’m bored,” he said, voice rough with lack of use.

“You’re bored?” Sam repeated, “How are you bored? You’ve only been not reading for a couple of minutes. I’ve been sitting here all damn day!” Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw the other passengers look at them in surprise, and realized that they hadn’t heard them speak English before, and Barnes had been reading a book in Russian.

“I’ve been sitting here all damn day,” Barnes repeated in a monotone. Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re the one who wanted to take the train,” he reminded him.

“Yeah, because I can’t exactly fly.” Barnes raised his gloved left hand, wiggling the fingers.

“Whatever man. All I’m saying is, entertain yourself.” Barnes scowled at him, then at their fellow passengers who, Sam realized, were now openly staring at them. Barnes snapped something at them in Russian, and they abruptly turned away and went back to speaking to each other. The elderly man, at least, hadn’t even paused in whatever he was murmuring to himself. They sat in silence for a moment, before Barnes again broke it.

“Tell me something,” he said.

Sam frowned at him. “Tell you what?”

Barnes shrugged. “Something about you.”

“You know this isn’t how conversations actually work, right?” Sam asked, then rolled his eyes at the look Barnes gave him. “Okay, okay. Um, I once almost got court martialed for using my wings to fly 100 kilometers in the middle of the night on a dare.” At Barnes incredulous look, Sam couldn’t help but smile and launch into the story.

“-and then when we got to Kabul, Riley told the General the entire thing had been a tactical exercise,” he finished. Barnes actually let out a small laugh, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sound. They sat in silence for a moment. Sam sliding into memories of other times Riley had almost gotten the both of them kicked out of the Air Force. The younger passengers were no longer talking but instead leaning back in their seats, mouths open in sleep. The only sounds in the compartment was the soft murmur of the Russian man’s voice and the rattle of the train running over the tracks. When he broke the silence, Barnes spoke softly, as if to try and preserve the peace of the moment.

“You talk about him a lot, Riley,” Barnes said. Sam nodded but didn’t say anything, and Barnes hesitated before speaking again. "Were you and him, y’know…” Barnes trailed off, making a vague hand gesture that Sam took to mean ‘super fucking gay for each other’.

Sam shrugged.“Yes and no,” he said. “We didn’t… not while we were in the 58th together. For a long time, you couldn’t even be openly gay, or bi, in the military without being kicked out, though that’s changed now. But I would have married him, after.”

“Would have?” Barnes asked.

“He died,” Sam said, and Barnes made a soft noise of understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice so sincere it almost hurt Sam to listen to it. A long moment of silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but charged somehow.

“There were a lot of places where no one was gonna fucking talk about… being queer, or they’d kick your face in for it,” Barnes said finally, tripping slightly over the word ‘queer’ before continuing on. “Not that that isn’t still true but… where we lived, that neighborhood… I read one of Steve’s biographies the other day, and did you know that they lie about that, about where we lived?” Sam shook his head. Barnes snorted. “I suppose they thought it’d reflect badly, or that people might make assumptions if they knew just how many queers Captain America grew up around. Not to mention the commies, and the working girls.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” Sam said flatly, and the ghost of a smile flashed across Barnes’ face. Sam paused before speaking again. “I learned about Steve, about you and the rest of the Commandos in school. After I met Steve, I went back and read one of his bios because I thought there was no way that the guy that I learned about in school and the fucking shithead who casually told me about jumping out of the Triskelion were the same person.”

“And?” Barnes asked. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know who the fuck that book was written about, but it definitely wasn’t Steve.”

Barnes smiled again, stronger this time. “I thought it was just me at first,” he admitted. “Just my memories being fucked up. But there’s no way I could have made up the memory of tiny Steve Rogers throwing bricks and screaming at two guys who were harassing the lesbians next door.” Sam laughed, wishing, not for the first time, that he’d have been able to meet the Steve from back then. A Steve Rogers without the weight of the war hanging over his head, without the disconnect from everyone he’d ever known… plus Sam definitely would have been able to lap that version of Steve.

“The first person I told was my Ma,” Sam finally said, after a pause. “I came home from kindergarten one day and told her that I was going to marry Jermaine Turner when I was grown up and we were going to have twenty dogs and a farm.” Barnes mouth turned up in a smile, and Sam continued. “Of course, I had never been to a farm or even seen a cow, so I’m not quite sure what led me to decide that that was the path my gay ass was gonna take in life, but whatever.” Sam shrugged, smiling.

“I never told Steve,” Barnes said, frowning. “I don’t… I think he caught me? Yeah, yeah, he caught me making it to second base with Albert Goldberg. He was supposed to be at work – ’course, me and Albert were supposed to be at shul, so neither of us should have been home – and he walked in on us going at it on the couch.” Sam noticed a bit of Brooklyn slip into Barnes voice as he spoke, and decided never to point it out. “He told me I was a fucking idiot and that I should use a rubber, and that he was gonna go over and spend time with Ena and her kids next door until we were done. ‘Course, wasn’t really in the mood after that.” Sam snorted, glancing guiltily over when one of the other passengers shifted in their sleep. They waited a moment, but he didn’t seem to be awake, and so Sam launched into a story in turn.

 

* * *

 

The news came two days later.

The safe house they’d landed at in Moscow, a small flat in the heart of the city, was unfortunately occupied when they’d arrived. Sam and Barnes had dragged the bodies out to the river, furiously whisper-arguing the whole time before Barnes triumphantly dumped them into the icy water. He clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder as they both stood, watching as a final few bubbles floated their way to the surface in the wake of the wrapped bodies.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice gruff and full of laughter, “they won’t be found until spring at least. And hey, this is Moscow. Do you know how little I had to try to escape detection when carrying out assassinations here?” Sam groaned, turning and walking away from the grimy water.

“I don’t want to know,” he said as Barnes fell into step beside him.

“It was _so_ easy,” Barnes said, predictably ignoring him. “You just threw a bit of gold, drugs, whatever, at the nearest KGB agent and then all of a sudden everyone was blind.” Barnes sighed, sounding horrifyingly wistful. “The Soviet Union. It was a different time.”

“Okay, Comrade Barnes,” Sam said, and Barnes barked out a laugh.

“Not quite, though I did get lent out to the Russians – to the Red Room – quite a few times over the years.”

“Where did you spend most of your time?” Sam asked. “While you were awake?” Barnes shrugged.

“All over really. I probably spent the most time in Eastern Europe, but they moved me a lot while I was frozen. And when I was active, I went everywhere.”

“Is that why you know so many languages?” Barnes did something between a shrug and a nod of agreement.

“How about you?” Barnes asked, and Sam watched how his breath billowed in front of him, already below freezing this far north. “Where did you… serve? Not that it’s the same, but…” Barnes trailed off, making a face at himself that he probably didn’t realize Sam could see. Sam bit his tongue before answering to stop himself from laughing.

“Afghanistan,” he said. “Two tours,” he continued as they made their way up a flight of stairs. Barnes had subtly steered them off course from returning directly to the safe house, and Sam was happy to follow along without questioning him, enjoying the architecture of the city and the cold brush of the air against his face. Barnes hummed, tilting his head up to the sky.

“I think I did a job in Afghanistan once. Lot of sand, right?” Sam huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, a lot of sand.”

“I remember…” Barnes said, trailing off for a moment. “I was there twice. Once in, I think, the 50s? And then again a couple of years ago.” He went silent for a minute before continuing. “It used to be so beautiful.” Sam couldn’t help the slightly bitter, humourless laugh that slipped from his lips.

“I try to have hope in people,” he said. “But sometimes, over there, knowing what happened to those countries, the role America played in it… it’s hard to believe in anything bigger than myself.”

“You don’t believe in people?” Barnes asked, voice curious. “Not that I’m calling you a liar, but bullshit.” Sam startled into a laugh.

“No, fuck, I believe in people, that’s not what I’m saying… I guess sometimes it’s just hard to believe that there are any systems out there that are truly working on behalf of the people, you know? You look at the government, and it’s like…” Sam shook his head.

“Is that why you followed Steve?” Barnes asked, and Sam snorted.

“Nah, I followed Steve because his ass looks amazing in that suit, have you seen it?” Sam lied. Barnes laughed, and changed the subject.

They arrived back at the safe house a couple of hours later, after Barnes successfully relocated a tiny grocery store he remembered from the 80s to buy a bunch of packages of what he assured Sam were healthy Russian foods. Sam only raised an eyebrow in response, and grabbed a bag of apples and loaf of bread. Barnes paid for all of it, including a carton of what were apparently the only cigarettes he would smoke, with their stolen funds. They put away half of the groceries in a strange pantomime of domesticity before spreading out the rest of the food on the kitchen table. Barnes flicked on the TV, glancing at Sam before flipping to the BBC, broadcasting with Russian subtitles. Sam smiled his appreciation into his glass. Then what was happening on the screen registered, and the smile dropped off of his face.

“What the fuck?” Barnes said.

“Are those robots?” Sam asked.

“Yeah and- shit!” Barnes swore as the camera zoomed in on- yup, that was definitely Steve, punching a giant metal robot in the face.

“Motherfucker,” Sam said, chair squealing across the tiles as he stood abruptly. “Shit, what-” he looked around the room, pacing into the other room and quickly returning. “Where are my wings?” he said, and Barnes finally stood as well.

“They’re right there, but Sam-,” Barnes said, as Sam spun and grabbed his wings from where they’d been sitting in plain sight. “Sam, you can’t,” Barnes said as Sam turned back around, with something Sam refused to interpret on his face.

“It’s- where are they? Sokovia? Fuck! Okay, fuck, Sokovia, that’s like… fifteen-hundred kilometers? Shit! If I… I’ll have to take a couple of breaks, but…” Sam trailed off, mind spinning as he tried to figure out how the fuck he could get to Sokovia.

“You can’t,” Barnes repeated.

“Like hell!” Sam said.

“You don’t think I want to go to?” Barnes snapped, and Sam stopped mid-step. “There is literally no physical way for us to get there in time. And we need to be… if–” Barnes paused, swallowed. “–if they fail to stop… whatever’s happening there. We’ll. We’ll still be here to finish it.” Sam stared at him, helpless and frustrated and so, so angry that he was right. That he had known he was right even before he stood up and started to search for his wings. He clenched and released his fist a couple of times before finally falling back into his seat at the table.

“Fine,” he said, and Barnes sat back down as well.

They didn’t move until it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am crezut că am auzit ceva. - Romanian, I thought I heard something  
> Bine, dar când vom fi ucisi, e vina ta - Romanian, Okay but when we’re killed it’s your fault  
> Ще трябва да ви спася отново, ако го направите - Bulgarian, I’ll just have to rescue you again if you do  
> можеш ли да го видиш? - Bulgarian, can you see it?


	5. Some vision of the future

After Sokovia, something changed between them. Sam wasn’t sure he could name it if someone asked, but he knew that he wasn’t the only one that felt it. He could see it in the way that Barnes looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, and the way he outright stared when he thought Sam wasn’t looking. It burned in Sam’s gut. It vibrated beneath his fingernails. It made him want to dance, or scream, or fly.

Sam had called Steve, as soon as the dust had settled over the destroyed city, and when Steve didn’t answer, he kept calling him every hour until the other man finally picked up.

“Hey Sam,” he’d said, his voice tangled with exhaustion, syllables stumbling over each other.

“Steve,” Sam had said, then fallen silent.

“I guess you saw the news?” Steve said, after a long pause.

“Yeah. That was some shit, eh?” Sam asked, smiling when Steve laughed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. There’s… a lot of people got hurt and I’m… but I’m fine.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Cool,” he said, making his voice as casual as he could. “How’s finding a therapist going?”

“Cute,” Steve said. “How are you?”

Sam sighed.“We’re good.”

“‘We,’ huh?” Steve asked, and somehow Sam could _hear_ the eyebrow raise.

“Fuck off, Rogers,” he said, “yeah, just, y’know, same old same old. Yesterday we went for a walk, got groceries, threw some dead Hydra agents into a river. The usual.” Steve laughed, and Sam smiled.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Steve said.

When Sam hung up, Barnes was waiting for him. Sam looked at him, and sighed.

“Where to now?” he asked, and Barnes pulled a map out from somewhere, laying it out across the table in front of Sam. He pointed to a blank spot in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, and Sam stared at it for several silent seconds.

“Fuck, seriously?” he asked. “Why?” Barnes shook his head, looking down at the map with a faint frown on his face.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, then paused. “There’s something… something buried there.” Sam felt a shiver crawl down his spine, and heard his grandmother’s voice in his head telling him that someone had just walked over his grave. Barnes raised his head, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Sam asked, and Barnes nodded.

 

* * *

 

Barnes took them through several dodgy meetings to get them a helicopter, which was painted white and stripped down to only the essentials. When they set off into the mountains, they still didn’t have a good idea of where they were flying to. Barnes’ memories of the base weren’t very clear, though they had found that his memories often clarified themselves in proximity to places that he’d been before. This was especially true if something fucked up had happened there, either to or because of Barnes. So Sam wasn’t surprised that as they got closer their flightpath changed, from a slightly meandering trajectory over the fields of ice and snow and rock to a direct line to a peak that rose slightly above the rest. The suspiciously flat spot near the top of the craggy peak that they found to land on bore out Barnes’ instincts. The wind was strong enough that Barnes had to fight it to land the helicopter, air buffeting them at all sides as he slowly lowered them onto the mountain. Once Barnes had settled the chopper down onto the snow-swept ground, they looked out the window at the half-obscured mountaintop for a long moment.

“Should we dress in white for the snow or black for the inevitable horrifying underground bunker?” Sam asked, and Barnes snorted, shoving a white coat at him.

Barnes was pretty confident that the base had been shut down years before, but they were both still on edge as they stepped down from the helicopter. The white machine blended as well as could be expected with the landscape, though there hadn’t been anything they could do to cover up the sounds of their approach. Sam was more thankful than ever that the changes done to his wings by Stark included chameleon tech, as the wings shifted to white as soon as he stepped outside.

As they walked across the snow, the wind covered the sound, whipping around them with a screaming howl that wasn’t doing anything for the rising tension clutching at Sam’s shoulders. The snow was only a couple inches thick, but Sam was still very aware, as they carefully made their way across the frozen ground, how much that could slow both of them down in a fight. The patches of ice that littered the ground intermittently, the unevenness of the rocky ground – none of it was good if they ended up needing to fight their way out. Or in. Sam wasn’t ruling that out yet.

Sam was thankful for the goggles and mask covering his face, though seeing Barnes in them, even if they were white instead of black, had sent a wash of unpleasant memories sweeping through his mind. Following along behind him, however, all Sam could see was the white of Barnes’ pack against the white of his jacket. Visibility fluctuated with the wind. At one moment the whole plateau would be visible, and the next they could barely make out each other. It was a relief when they finally reached the steep rock wall that defined one edge of the plateau. The other three gave way to sheer drops. If there was an entrance on that mountain, it would be set into that wall. Pressing his back to the rock, Sam kept his rifle raised, slowly scanning their surroundings as Barnes ran his metal hand across the wall, using what he assured Sam were far more sensitive than normal fingertips to check for a seam. Sam felt his stomach drop when they reached the edge of the wall, where the rock face sheared away to a plunging drop into a swirling white nothing. He was close enough to Barnes to just catch the growl of frustration that escaped the other man, as he turned and stepped around Sam to go over the wall again. This time, he stopped near the middle of the wall, pushing up his goggles and pressing his face so close to the rock his nose was nearly touching it. He gestured for Sam to come over, and Sam did, leaning in close so he could hear the other man over the howl of the wind.

“There’s a seam, see?” Once Barnes had pointed out, Sam could see a line, unnaturally straight, running up the wall. He could also see that it was fused shut, the faint shine of metal indicating that it had been welded shut, most likely from the inside.

“It’s sealed,” he said, and barely managed to not flinch when Barnes smashed his metal fist to the wall in frustration.

“Fuck,” Barnes said, and then didn’t say anything else for a while, staring blankly at the seam.

When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to say anything else, Sam spoke. “Is there anything we can-” Barnes was already shaking his head, and Sam trailed off.

“There’s no way we can get in here,” Barnes said, “not without enough explosives to cause an avalanche and take us both with it.”

“Okay so that’s a hard no on that,” Sam replied. “So what do we do?” Barnes had pushed his goggles back down, but it wasn’t enough to hide his grimace. Sam squinted at him. “...what? What was that face for?”

Barnes hesitated for a moment. “There’s another way in,” he admitted.

“Sounds like it should be a good thing,” Sam said slowly. “I’m guessing it’s not.”

Barnes turned to look at Sam, reluctance obvious on his face. “You’re not going to like this,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The other entrance was, according to Barnes, on the north side of the mountain… one of the sides where the plateau cut away to the howling void. With the flashlight mounted on his rifle, Barnes was able to illuminate the outline of the entrance. It was obvious that much less effort had gone into keeping it hidden, which was understandable, given it’s location. It was unlikely that anyone would have ever discovered it by accident or, if they had, that they would have been able to reach it. Sam suspected that when the base had been active, there would have been even more measures in place to discourage ambitious mountaineers.

“There’ll be a keypad,” Barnes said. “The passcode was 39920.”

“Was?” Sam asked.

Barnes shrugged. “As of around 1972.” There was a long pause.

“Fuck,” Sam said. “Okay, well, I guess we’ll find out. I’ll fly over there-”

“No,” Barnes interrupted, and Sam raised an eyebrow at him. Barnes, apparently unaffected by the look Sam gave him, continued to speak. “You’d have to fight to keep your wings steady against the updraft while pushing in the code. There’s no way you’d be able to maintain control.”

“And you’re basing that on all the times you’ve seen me fly, are you?” Sam asked, and even if he couldn’t see it, he could still sense Barnes’ glare.

“It’s physics, Wilson, not an opinion.”

“I’m sorry, do you have another way to get over there that you’re not telling me?” Sam asked.

“The same way everyone has always gotten to that door,” Barnes said, “I climb.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t like this,” Sam said again as Barnes shook out his arms, having passed his rifle and pack to Sam.

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Barnes said, turning to look at Sam, and Sam could hear the smile in the other man’s voice. “It’ll be fine.” And then, with no other warning, Barnes grabbed ahold of the side of the rock, shoved his metal fingers into a crack, and swung out into nothingness. Sam heard the thud of Barnes’ boots hitting the rock face before he saw it, taking a careful step forward, swaying slightly in the wind as he watched Barnes slowly pick his way across the vertical surface. He was barely clinging to the side of the mountain, shoving boots and fingers into spaces that Sam couldn’t even see from where he was, that he probably would have sworn were far too small to fit them even if he had been able to see them. It was obvious how much the wind was buffeting at Barnes, the back of his coat heaving and snapping in the wind. It almost looked like the wind was alive and hateful, attempting to tear him bodily from the rockface. Sam felt like his heart was about to beat straight out of his chest as he watched the other man make his way across the side of the mountain. Finally, Barnes reached the door he’d pointed out to Sam, and Sam watched as Barnes settled himself, boots set firmly on the narrow ledge that marked out the base of the entrance, metal fingers dug into the rock face next to the door. Pushing down the fabric covering the bottom of his face, Barnes pushed up his goggles as well before using his teeth to pull the glove off his right hand. Glove held between gritted teeth, Barnes did something that Sam couldn’t see. He could see, however, when a green light suddenly lit up above the door.

Barnes was turning towards Sam, a smile already curling across his lips, when his feet suddenly slipped from the ledge. There was a second where Barnes was holding onto the side of the mountain only by the fingers of his metal hand. Then that rock crumbled too, and Sam just had enough time to see the surprised look on Barnes face, mouth open into a tiny, shocked ‘o’, before the other man was falling. Sam dropped everything he was holding, slamming the button to activate his wings. They opened with a whine, immediately sending Sam slamming backwards into the rock wall as they caught the wind, feet skittering helplessly across the ground. Cursing and gritting his teeth, Sam dropped to his knees, angling the wings so that the wind grabbed ahold of the underside of them, and he could feel himself lifting off of the ground slightly even before the engines took hold and abruptly propelled him forward. He shot across the length of the plateau, barely a foot above the ground. As soon as he cleared the rock floor of the ledge they had landed on, he spiralled into a dive, praying for his wings to go faster as he chased after the shape of Barnes he could barely pick out in the storm. He almost had him when the black shape of rocks suddenly loomed out of the blank whiteness before them. Sam swore as, with a final twist, his hand locked with Barnes’ outstretched hand. He pulled them horizontal, cursing at the drag and strain of Barnes’ weight hanging beneath him. _Fucking super soldiers,_ he thought to himself as he changed directions and began heading back up the cliff. As he rose to the height of the door, now a black hole in the side of the mountain, Sam realized that Barnes had been right. With all of the competing streams of wind tearing across the side of the mountain, there was no way he would be able to hold them steady in front of the door.

“Get ready,” he shouted, no idea if Barnes had heard him or not as he rose above the height of the door. Cutting the engines for a second, he used Barnes’ upwards momentum to bring them level with each other, wrapping his arms around Barnes’ back as the engines screamed back to full power. Saying a prayer, he tucked into a dive, wrapping his wings around them as he streaked across the sky towards the door. He thought they weren’t going to make it and then suddenly they did. Barnes rolled away from Sam as they hit the ground, sparks flying up from his arm as it dragged across the floor. Sam’s wings let out another whine, and he shut them down before he accidentally damaged them on the walls of the passageway they now found themselves inside. They retracted easily, and then the only sound was the wind howling by outside. They both lay there for a long moment, struggling to get their breath back as they processed how close they had both come to dying. Barnes climbed to his feet first, followed shortly by Sam, who joined him in looking out the door they had entered through.

“I dropped the rifles,” Sam said, “and your pack. I don’t think we can go back for them though.” Barnes shrugged.

“It’s a Hydra base,” he said. “There’ll be more weapons.” He looked at Sam, but Sam didn’t turn to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” Barnes said. “You saved my life.” Sam half-shrugged, uncomfortable, then grinned.

“Your turn next time,” he said, which made Barnes smile in a way that Sam almost wanted to describe as affectionate.

There wasn’t anything left for them to do after that but turn and head into the belly of the mountain.

Like many other Hydra facilities they’d seen, the base built into the mountain was perfunctory in its design, the hallways hewn from the rock with no embellishment. Red emergency lighting ran along the ceiling, still active after however long, lighting the space with a faint, sickly glow. Without the lights attached to their rifles, they were forced to carry their handguns in one hand, and a small flashlight in the other. Barnes took point, with Sam following close behind, and they made their way deeper and deeper into the mountain. Sam would have been tempted to make a Moria joke, if they weren’t both too on edge, ears primed for the slightest sign that they weren’t alone. Which, really, only made the joke more perfect, and Sam tried to remember if Steve had said if he had read Lord of the Rings before or after the ice. He gave up when they reached the first split in the tunnel, and Barnes turned unhesitatingly left. Sam ignored the shiver that ran up his spine as he turned, following after Barnes.

Soon after, the hallway began to transform from raw stone into something more polished, and doorways began to appear in their path. They swept each room, discovering offices and storerooms, and Sam was once again struck by the banality of the bureaucracy that went into something as evil as Hydra. Though Barnes remained as composed as he ever did, Sam could sense the desire to run ahead to whatever memory was luring him deeper and deeper into the earth. His impatience tugged at Sam, making him near vibrate with the need to _move_.

In the second room they swept, they discovered the reason why Barnes’ code worked, despite the last memory he had of the facility being from the 1970s – according to the dates on the dust-covered papers they found, the last time anyone had been down there was in 1973, only a year later. It appeared that the entire facility had been hastily cleared and sealed, though neither of them had yet found anything that indicated _why_ the facility had been abandoned so abruptly. There was an obvious haste and lack of care – Sam hadn’t ever been in a facility with quite so much junk scattered everywhere, at least not one where his entrance hadn’t been announced by a firefight. He thought of what he and Steve had found in the American bases – what they’d found the last time they’d dropped down into the belly of a mountain – and shivered. He tried to tell himself that this base might have been abandoned under threat of discovery or something else equally benign.

He wasn’t holding out much hope for it though.

Minutes later, Barnes turned a corner and then stopped. He didn’t hold up a hand in warning however, and Sam walked up to stand next to him without any hesitation. Set into the wall across from them was the large cage door of an industrial elevator. Sam exchanged a look with Barnes, and they both walked across the passageway to the door. Barnes reached up to push apart the two halves of the exterior doors, and Sam tugged on the second set of doors, which opened easily to reveal the gaping maw of the elevator shaft. Sam stepped back in surprise.

“Well fuck,” Barnes said, conversationally, and Sam almost flinched from how loud his voice was after the silence that had woven around them as they had wound deeper and deeper into the mountain. Sam stepped forward again, looking up and then down. His flashlight wasn’t powerful enough to penetrate more than a couple of meters in any direction, and he couldn’t spot anything, not the elevator car, not the shape of a door to another level. On the wall, though, there was–

“Ladder,” Sam said, pointing, and Barnes’ eyes followed the path drawn by Sam’s flashlight. Bolted to the wall was a metal service ladder, which would make everything much easier, if not for the fact that it was affixed to the wall to their left. They would have to leap a distance of about two and a half meters to reach the ladder. Not impossible, but not easy.

“I–” Barnes started, but Sam interrupted him.

“Oh no you don’t, not again,” he said.

“I should go first,” Barnes argued.

“We don’t have to go down the elevator shaft,” Sam said. “We can just keep going down the hallways, there’s no reason to risk jumping.”

“This is faster,” Barnes argued. Sam shook his head.

“This place has been out of use for years,” he countered. “You don’t know how secure that ladder is.” Sam paused, and when Barnes didn’t seem to be willing to back down, he continued to argue. “You know just as well as I do that my wings won’t fit,” Sam said. Barnes stared back at him for a long moment, lips pressed together, before letting out a long breath of air.

“Fine,” he said, and they both turned, raising their guns and falling back into their previous formation. Soon, the opening to the elevator had disappeared behind them, lost to the serpentine turns of the labyrinthine passages of the base.

It wasn’t long after that that they found the bloodstains.

Their progress had become hampered, the further they went, by an increasing collection of debris scattered across the ground in front of them, ranging from boxes of papers to chunks of rocks and cement to, perhaps most disturbingly, the shredded remains of what might have once been clothing. They had turned a corner, Sam carefully watching where he was putting his feet, when Barnes made a small noise, more a hard exhale than anything, and Sam’s head whipped up. Barnes flashlight was pointed forward, illuminating the wall across from them, where there was what appeared to be an impressive splash of arterial spray, starting about halfway up the wall and arcing up, across the ceiling.

“Fuck,” Barnes said.

“Fuck,” Sam agreed, sweeping his flashlight across the rest of the hallway. There was more blood on the floor, a large streak as if something – a body, his mind helpfully supplied – had been dragged down it. Barnes stepped towards the blood on the wall while Sam kept his gun, and flashlight, trained forwards.

“It’s old,” Barnes said, picking at the stain. “Probably from the time the facility was shut down, if I had to guess.” Sam, who figured Barnes probably knew from his bloodstains, didn’t say anything to that.

“Think we found why they left this place?” he asked instead.

“I think we’ve found a sign of it,” Barnes said, stepping back from the wall, once again raising his gun. “C’mon.” Sam rolled his eyes, and followed the other man. If they’d both been on edge before, it was nothing compared to now, as they made their way down the hallway, both scanning for any further signs of violence. They didn’t have to look very far, however. It was as if, once the dam had been broken, the mountain had decided to throw every possible ghost, screaming of past violence, at them. There was more blood, so much more blood, and torn cloth that was now clearly identifiable as having once been clothing, dresses and pants and shirts. At one point Sam had stepped on something that broke with a crunch. He’d raised his boot to reveal a crushed human tooth beneath his sole. There were claw marks too, scouring the walls, the floor, the roof. Deep furrows that made fear creep like nausea through the pit of Sam’s stomach.

“Do they remind you of something…?” Barnes asked at one point, trailing off as he stared at the claw marks in the walls.

“Yeah, a horror movie,” Sam said, before jolting. “In Romania, do you think?” he asked. Barnes turned to look at him, eyes wide and Sam realized then that Barnes was just as unsettled by whole situation as Sam was.

“They would have had to create them somewhere,” he said slowly. He looked around the hallway, at the scars in the rock surrounding them. “Hydra has always liked to create their monsters in the dark.” Sam frowned, opening his mouth to speak, when Barnes suddenly held up a hand, held tilted and eyes flickering back and forth, looking at nothing. After a moment, Sam could hear it too, a faint, snarling howl that sent the hairs on his arm standing on end.

“How many do you–” Sam started to ask, but Barnes was already shaking his head.

“Too many,” he said, catching Sam’s arm. Sam wondered what counted as too many to Barnes, thinking briefly of the weapons left behind on the top of the mountain. Barnes used his grip on Sam’s arm to turn them both around, and they began to head back the way they had come, moving with far less care now. Barnes kept his head half-turned around, watching their backs, and Sam took up the task of guiding the other man, and himself, through the detritus that littered the path of their retreat. The snarls were getting closer, when there was any noise at all. Most of the time there was only silence, just as big and hungry as before, but somehow far more terrifying for the knowledge that there _should_ have been something filling it. It felt like it took twice as long to go back up the hallway as it had taken them to go down it, but finally they turned a corner and were greeted by the sight of the open black mouth of the elevator shaft. There was no time for debate, and Sam, reaching the opening just ahead of Barnes, didn’t hesitate. Without slowing his run, he shoved his gun and flashlight into his suit before launching himself into the dead air of the elevator. For a brief, heady moment, he thought he wouldn’t make it, before he slammed bodily into the metal of the ladder, arms clumsily wrapping around the bars as the entire structure shook. The entire weight of his body came crashing down on his arms seconds later, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

The bright rectangle marking the opening he’d jumped through was slightly above him, and he could see Barnes silhouetted in the entrance, still facing outward. The snarls were closer now, the echos of them filling the empty space around Sam, reverberating off the walls. Sam hesitated for a moment, not sure if he should risk distracting Barnes from the approaching creatures, but when Barnes failed to turn around, Sam shouted up at him.

“Barnes! Jump!” Barnes crouched, and for a brief, heady second Sam thought that he was going to jump _backwards_. That thought was interrupted, however, by a howl, louder than anything before it, and the sound of a gunshot came echoing down the metal walls. Sam saw Barnes’ body move with the gunshot, smoothly flowing back into place to fire again, and again. He could catch glimpses of black fur now, and Sam began to climb upwards, ignoring the way the ladder shook and groaned beneath his feet. With every step, he was able to see more and more what was happening on the floor above him, and his stomach knotted with fear at the sight of the swirling mass of black fur surging against Barnes. Barnes was holding his ground but Sam could already tell that he wasn’t be able to keep it up for much longer, and as he watched a creature snapped its jaw shut inches from Barnes’ face, the other man barely managing to turn his head in time. Sam climbed two more rungs before he pulled his gun back out, taking aim at the creatures closest to Barnes and firing. The creature fell back without a sound, and Barnes smoothly moved to accommodate Sam shooting from behind him. It only took a couple more shots, and some creative knife work from Barnes, before they finally managed to carve out a window for the other man. Barnes slashed out one last time, sending the two creatures nearest him skittering backwards, before he pivoted, braced a foot against the metal edge of the doorway, and launched himself into the abyss.

When the creature leapt, Sam’s finger squeezed the trigger immediately, instinct leading him to aim and react before his conscious mind even finished processing the sight of the black mass hurtling itself after Barnes. His gun clicked on empty, and the monster collided with Barnes. The velocity of it sent both of them flying the remaining distance to the ladder, which shook violently. There was a second where Sam wasn’t sure if the ladder was going to hold, but after a terrifying rattle and scream of protesting metal, it held. Sam looked down to see Barnes’ metal hand closed firmly around a rung just below Sam’s boots. Everything else was just a mass of fur and man, and for a second Sam couldn’t tell where the creature ended and Barnes begun. Then, Barnes screamed, and Sam watched in horror as his body swung outward to reveal the long teeth of the creature buried in his flesh arm, the thing’s entire weight hanging off of its teeth in his arm. Barnes’ eyes flew open, staring up at Sam.

Sam did the only thing he could think of, and let go of the ladder.

The knife was in his hand as soon as he was no longer gripping the metal, and he allowed gravity and his momentum to drive it downwards. He jerked as it slammed into the skull of the creature, and Barnes screamed again. For a millisecond, Sam thought it wouldn’t work, but the downwards momentum did its job, and the creature’s jaws opened, releasing Barnes’ arm as it fell with a howl. Sam let go of his knife, bringing that hand up to join the other already desperately grasping at the rungs in front of him. He managed to find his grip after a single, terrifying second, and he once again crashed into the metal of the ladder, the weight of his body and the abrupt halt in his fall driving the breath from his lungs.

There was a moment of silence. Sam took several deep, shaky breaths, processing the fact that he _hadn’t_ died. He finally looked up when something wet and warm hit his cheek. He had a second to realize it was Barnes’ blood, dripping from his fingertips, before he met the wide eyes of the other man, staring down at him. Almost simultaneously, they turned to look back up at the entrance to the elevator shaft. Sam felt a new spike of fear shoot down his spine. Above them stood a row of the creatures, all of them silently staring down at them. Almost as one, they turned, melting into the shadows, and Sam’s skin crawled with the unnaturalness of their movements.

 

* * *

 

The climb down the shaft was slow, with Barnes’ arm steadily dripping blood and Sam’s entire body aching from what were now multiple falls. Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached the bottom of the shaft. Sam glanced briefly at the crumpled mound of fur near the base of the ladder, the creature that had almost dragged Barnes down with it, before looking upwards. The entrance they had come through was invisible, as were the others they had passed on their journey downwards, some open and lit with the faint red glow of the emergency lights, others just the faint dark outline of closed doors. A couple of times, Sam had thought he’d caught a glimpse of something moving, slinking through the faint glow of the lights, but he couldn’t be sure. They didn’t hear any more howls as they had climbed deeper and deeper into the earth. Standing there, at the base of the shaft, Sam shivered, feeling the entire weight of the mountain pressing down upon their heads. He looked back to find that Barnes had made his way to the edge of the rectangular base of the shaft. Sam glanced up a final time, sparing a brief, wondering thought for the missing elevator carriage, before walking over to join Barnes. The other man was sliding the beam of his flashlight across the outer wall, searching for a door or entryway.

“Let me look at your arm,” Sam said quietly as he approached, voice still echoing slightly in the massive darkness around them. Barnes glanced up, then shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he said. Sam just stared at him. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face – he was far too stressed and tired and in pain to modulate his emotions – but it only took a moment of Sam staring at him before Barnes capitulated. Sighing heavily, Barnes tucked away his weapon and flashlight before stripping off his jacket. The sleeve beneath it gleamed wetly in the faint light, though the blood was indistinguishable from the black fabric of Barnes’ sleeve. Barnes rolled up the fabric to reveal a forearm covered in blood. Sam tucked his flashlight between his neck and shoulder as he reached out, gently gripping Barnes’ arm and turning it in the light. He once again spared a thought for Barnes’ pack, and the water bottles and first aid kit held within it, before focusing on Barnes’ injuries. Through the blood, Sam could see that they were neither as deep nor as wide as they should be, and he breathed a sigh of relief that Barnes obviously shared some of Steve’s healing ability.

“How’s it feel?” Sam asked, as he tried to think if they had anything they could use as a bandage, or if they even needed to bother with one.

“Fucking fantastic,” Barnes growled, and Sam sucked his teeth.

“Attitude,” he said, and he could practically hear his mother in his voice. Barnes must have had a similar thought, because he suddenly smirked. Sam shot a glare at him, before releasing his arm.

“We could tear up one of our shirts for a bandage,” he said, the doubt in his voice obvious even to himself. Barnes must have agreed with Sam’s assessment, because he shook his head, rolling his sleeve back down.

“No point,” he said. “It’ll be done healing in another hour or two.”

“Any chance of infection?” Sam asked, and Barnes shook his head.

“Don’t get infections,” he said.

“Any effects from the blood loss?” he asked. Barnes shrugged.

“I’m a bit lightheaded,” he said, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Food would help, but, well…” he trailed off, shrugging again. Sam decided to just let that lie, wiping his hands on his pants before removing his flashlight from between his neck and shoulder.

They found the doorway minutes later, and it was with a great sense of relief and dread that Sam pushed the bar to find it unlocked. He paused, looking back at Barnes. Sam was now down to one of Barnes’ knives and his flashlight, and they were both painfully aware of the fact that Barnes only had one clip left. Eight bullets, and an unknown number of monsters.

Sam nodded at Barnes, and opened the door.


	6. No need for being pure

The passageway was eerily similar to the previous one they had been navigating. The faint red glow of the lights lent a strange depth of shadow to the debris, shallow, flickering things that seemed to move on their own. There was less evidence of bloody death, and Sam found himself hoping that the creatures had been confined to the top levels, prevented from coming deeper by some barricade. The damage done to this lower floor seemed to largely come, instead, from age and depth, with water rising up to swallow the floor in some places, while in others, chunks had fallen from the ceiling to shatter on the floor below.

They proceeded forward the way they had been before everything had gone to shit, with Barnes and his gun in the front, and Sam taking up their rear, knife grasped firmly in the hand not holding his flashlight. They often had to pass rooms by without entering them, whether because the doorway was blocked off, or because a glance inside revealed such severe structural damage that neither of them wanted to risk entering. What they did find wasn’t much of a departure from the floor above, though there were more labs full of equipment that made Barnes go pale, eyes hard. They passed through living quarters, a gym full of dilapidated Soviet-era equipment, before finally coming to a large set of metal doors. Exchanging a glance, both men smoothly moved into position, Sam fighting the ache of his entire body. A hand signal from Sam, and they entered the room.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the room they now found themselves in. It was huge, easily the length and width of a football field, and the ceiling, disappearing into darkness, was at least two floors above them. Centred in that space, strangely on display amongst all the emptiness, were six glass chambers. The glowing tubes were raised off of the ground, and in the gloom almost seemed to be floating. Surrounded by cables and strange metal structures, the shape of _people_ were just visible through the frosting of ice on the glass.

“Fuck,” Sam said. Next to him, Barnes had frozen, gun still steady as he stared at the chambers. Sam glanced at him before moving forward without him, gaze fixed on the strange, terrible sight before him. His steps echoed hollowly in the huge room. As he drew closer, he saw that one of the glass chambers was empty, cables falling like vines over the open door.

“That one was mine,” Barnes said, suddenly next to him, and Sam only barely managed to stop himself from jumping in surprise.

“What the fuck Barnes,” Sam said, before his words caught up to him. “Oh,” he said, looking up at the empty chamber with a renewed sense of horror, taking in the barely visible restraints inside the glass, before turning to the ones still containing frozen bodies. Stepping closer, he looked at one, then the next, turning in a slow circle. He couldn’t make out much through the frost and dust, and he found himself unwilling to reach up to try and wipe either away.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“They’re what we’re here for,” Barnes said, voice half-surprised.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, glancing at Barnes to see that he was also looking up at the chambers, something complicated and unnamable on his face.

“We need to kill them,” Barnes said. Sam jerked, not expecting that.

“What?” he asked. “Who are they?”

“Winter soldiers,” Barnes said.

“What?” he repeated. “But you’re…” Sam trailed off as Barnes’ eyes met his.

“Not the only one,” he confirmed. “They made more. They took five soldiers of Hydra, their best assassins, and gave them the serum they pulled from my veins.”

“Hydra was able to replicate the serum?” Sam asked, images of an army of men and women like the Winter Soldier sweeping across his vision. Barnes shrugged.

“Not really. Not like they did with Steve, and never as good as with me.” Barnes smiled, a small, terrible, twisted thing. “Guess I was special.” The smile disappeared as he nodded up at the chambers. “They were failures, that’s why they were put in cryostasis.”

“Failures how?” Sam asked.

“It didn’t kill them,” Barnes said, “not like the others they tried it on. They survived, but Hydra couldn’t control them anymore. They were… mindless. Bloodthirsty. All they knew was killing, all they wanted to do was kill. Rabid wolves.”

“Sounds right up Hydra’s alley,” Sam said, and Barnes laughed bleakly.

“Not when they can’t stop it from turning on them,” he said. Sam smiled slightly at him.

“No, they don’t seem to like that.” Barnes startled, then smiled back at Sam. He turned back to the chambers.

“If they ever woke up, if anyone ever figured out how to use them…” he trailed off, but Sam didn’t need to hear the rest of it to know just how bad that would be.

“So what do we do?” Sam asked.

“We do what Hydra never did,” Barnes said, cocking his gun and raising it to aim at the first chamber. “Show mercy.”

Five bullets and it was done.

The room was still echoing faintly with the sound of the last gunshot when Barnes asked Sam how they were going to leave the facility. Sam raised an eyebrow him.

“Y’know, as the guy who has been here before, I really feel like that’s a question for you. And I really hope your answer isn’t the same way we came in, because I don’t know that I’ll be able to climb my way back up that elevator right now.” Barnes grimaced, reaching up to rub at his arm, metal fingers coming away red.

“Yeah, I was hoping for that too,” he admitted, looking around them. “I was also kinda hoping something would come back to me but…” he trailed off, shrugging, before gesturing towards the door on the far side from where they had entered the room. “There is that,” he said, and Sam weighed the odds of attempting to climb back up that shaft against wandering deeper into the unknown. The events of the day were dragging at him, and he was feeling sluggish and slow and, more than anything, fucking _hungry_. He swung his arms, feeling the ache in them.

“Let’s try down there,” he said. “We can always turn around and come back if it isn’t looking promising.” Barnes nodded his agreement, and they headed towards and through the doorway, leaving the room, now a mausoleum with six lonely pillars of glass.

The corridor turned into another, wider corridor, and it wasn’t long before they found another elevator, far smaller than the industrial one they had come down in. Sam tried to tamp down on the relief he felt upon seeing it, and, after exchanging a glance with Barnes, he reached forward to push the button to call the elevator to them. There was a moment of silence in which Sam began to mentally prepare himself for attempting to climb back out of the mountain. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal grinding against metal, and then, miraculously, the sound of an elevator approaching from below. _It goes deeper_ , Sam thought to himself, a wave of dizziness sweeping through him though he knew they had no reason to go further down. Whatever else might be entombed down there with them, Sam was happy to leave it to its rest. He wanted to be outside with a strength that made him want to scratch at his own skin, claw at the walls and scream. He needed to breath fresh air.

With a weak ding, the elevator arrived, doors sliding open. Barnes put out his arm, stopping Sam from stepping in. Instead Barnes stepped aboard, tentatively jumping a couple of times before nodding Sam on. Sam rolled his eyes, not admitting to the fact that he felt a bit better about stepping forward, though he was still painfully aware of the unknown pit beneath them. The age of the elevator was a knife at his throat as the doors slid shut, and he tried not to think about the fact that they would both definitely die if it dropped. Barnes reached forward and, after a second’s hesitation, pushed the first button. With a jerk, the elevator began to move upwards, and they both let out a relieved breath. It was strange, after all they’d been through that day, to just stand there, passive, while the elevator carried them upwards, but Sam was happy for the brief reprieve. He slumped against the wall of the elevator, feeling very aware of every single muscle in his body. Barnes moved to slouch next to him, and Sam couldn’t help but lean into him, his shoulder coming to rest against the unyielding metal of Barnes’ shoulder. He breathed, and Barnes breathed with him.

It wasn’t long before the elevator was shuddering to a stop at the topmost floor. Sam pushed himself to his feet with an unwillingness that he felt in his teeth, swallowing down a moan of protest. Judging by the noise Barnes made as he stood, he felt the same way. They both forced themselves into positions of readiness anyways, and the door slid open. After scanning the passageway on the other side of the doors, they cautiously stepped out.

“Think this is the floor we came in on?” Sam asked, whispering. Barnes shrugged.

“We came in through the top floor so probably,” he said.

“And at the opposite end of the mountain from the exit and our ride,” Sam continued. “Fucking peachy.” Barnes snorted quietly, gesturing Sam forward.

“It’ll be fine,” Barnes said as they began to move forward. Sam eyed a bloodstain on the wall, shifting the knife in his hand.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve got a knife, you’ve got what, three bullets left? And a potential horde of monsters between us and the exit. No problem.” He thought he saw Barnes smile out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to him the other man was straight faced, staring ahead into the darkness. Sam narrowed his eyes at him anyways, and the corner of Barnes’ mouth twitched. Shaking his head, Sam turned back to the hallway.

“Right,” he said quietly, taking a deep breath. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got this.” Barnes nudged him.

“Here,” he said, holding out a knife to Sam.

“Oh wow,” Sam said, taking the knife. “Well now we’ll definitely survive.” Despite his sarcasm, he couldn’t help but feel weirdly touched as Barnes smirked at him. Sam settled the other knife into his left hand, before nodding Barnes forward.

Barnes, again, took point and Sam, again, followed. Everything had taken on a slightly unreal bent, tinged with exhaustion and the fading electricity of adrenaline. Sam adjusted his grip on the handles of the knives and tried not to sweat. They moved slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb any of the detritus of past fights that were scattered across the floor: a helmet, a blood-stained jacket, a human skull. _You’d think there’d be some guns around,_ Sam thought as he stepped over a chunk of rock torn from the wall. He wondered if the creatures had moved them, and then tried very, very hard to never have that thought again.

Sam would estimate that it had taken them about an hour to walk from one elevator shaft to another on the lower floor, minus the time they had spent in the Winter Soldiers' grave. He wasn’t confident in that guess however. In the darkness, under the flicker of red emergency lighting, it was difficult to keep a grasp on the passage of time. The minutes dragged on endlessly, and the silence of the hallway grated like sandpaper. Sam felt flayed open, nerves raw as every single part of him strained to catch even the slightest whisper, the smallest change in the air. The sight of all of those creatures surrounding Barnes at the mouth of the elevator shaft kept flickering across his vision, and he couldn’t help but guess at how many monsters might remain trapped in the mountain with them.

His answer came as they made their way along a long stretch of hallway. The lights above them flickered, once, twice, before going out completely. It didn’t last long, only a couple of seconds, but when the lights came back on, they were there. A couple of creatures had made it into the centre of the hallway under the cover of darkness, while still more were slowly slinking their way into the hallway from the doors on either side. They stared at Sam and Barnes, eyes glowing out of fur that seemed to swallow all light, mouths open and gaping. Strings of drool dripped from their jaws and glimmered on their teeth. Sam felt a rush of fear pass through him as he shifted, planting his feet firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Barnes doing something similar beside him, though he didn’t dare look away from the creatures for a second. The thought of running passed through Sam’s mind as the final few monsters entered the passage. He dismissed the thought as soon as it came, knowing that Barnes was doing the same. There was no way they could outrun them, and there was no guarantee that there was any other way out of the mountain that wasn’t blocked with equally dangerous obstacles. _Two knives and three bullets,_ Sam thought, stretching his neck and trying not to calculate their odds.

When the creatures finally broke formation, it was without sound, which was somehow worse than their eerie howls and snarls from earlier. Instead, a silent black wave of fur and teeth surged down the passageway before them, and Sam and Barnes had no choice but to stand and wait for it to hit. Just before the first creature reached him, mouth gaping and eyes fixed on Sam, Sam ducked downwards. He immediately changed direction, surging back up and driving the knife in his right hand upwards into the vulnerable skin of the underside of the creature's neck. It fell, wrenching Sam’s knife from his grip, and he swore as he turned to face his next attacker. Swinging his arm around, Sam managed to get the next creature in the eye, keeping his grip on his knife even as the animal’s blood ran down his arm, slicking his skin in a red wash. One of them knocked into his side, and he swung around, using the force of the creature’s hit to propel himself away from that one and towards the other of the pair that had managed to flank him. He slashed downwards, carving a long line down the creature’s flank. The animal yelped in pain, jumping backwards, and Sam hoped it was injured enough to not attack again, even if he hadn’t managed to kill it. A gunshot echoed through the passageway.

 _Two bullets left_ , Sam thought.

Barnes was a blur out of the corner of his eye, his metal arm flashing as he grappled with the monsters rushing him. He seemed to be focused on conserving bullets, using the unnatural strength of his arm to his advantage. As Sam turned to confront his next attacker, he saw Barnes grab one by the side of its skull, smashing it into the wall before letting it drop. Barnes’ head turned towards him, and they had a second of eye contact before one of the creature's slammed into Sam, sending him flying sideways. He landed, hard, half-on a large chunk of concrete next to the giant mound of fur of a dead monster, driving the air from his lungs and sending pain shooting up his side. He gasped with shaking, half-breaths as he blinked rapidly and tried to focus. Forcing himself to take a single, deep breath, he pushed the pain away like Tasha had shown him.

“You can keep fighting through anything,” she’d told him, sitting cross-legged across from him on her hotel bed. “If you can just push the pain away from you. Let it be a part of you, but not all of you. Remove it from your bones, your skin, your brain.” At Sam’s skeptical look, she’d smiled, lips curving dangerously. “Treat it like an unpleasant emotion, or a memory you want to forget. Gather it all up, and then force it away from the core of who you are and what you are experiencing. Focus on what you need to do.”

Taking a slow, deep breath, he tried to gather up every part of him that was hurting, taking the threads of pain and tying them all up into a ball that he then pushed away, outside of himself. Still there, but less pressing. Less overwhelming. And then he didn’t have time to think anymore, as he was forced to jerk his head abruptly to the side, allowing the animal that had been lunging at him to smash its muzzle down onto the concrete instead. There was something silver next to his eye, and he reached up and pulled, the slick sound of metal leaving flesh loud next to his ear as he drew free his lost knife. He didn’t pause in his movement as he rolled and slammed the knife into to the throat of the creature next to him. Jerking the knife free, he spun it in his hand as he stood so that he once again had two knives, one facing forward and one facing back. He used his upward momentum to pivot as another creature lunged at him, slashing downwards at its spine as it slipped past him. There was another gunshot from behind him as Sam watched the creature hit the wall, clumsy with pain as it turned back towards Sam, mouth open in a snarl.

 _One_.

The injured animal loped back towards Sam, and he shifted one leg back, bracing himself to push forward once again. He saw something black move out of the corner of his eye, and raised his arm on instinct, angling the knife in his hand outwards. The knife skittered across the side of the creature’s face, tearing at its cheek. Sam’s hand dragged across the surface of its teeth as the blade of his knife transversed the empty space of its mouth before cutting through its other cheek. The animal danced back a few steps, shaking its head in pain, and Sam barely had enough time to shift his attention before the other creature was upon him. Luckily, that one, already injured, was moving far slower, and Sam was able to slide his knife into the skin just behind its jaw bone. It fell, and Sam turned back to the other monster, watching in horror as it raised its head to reveal a mouth that now gaped open, jaw open to nearly one-hundred and eighty degrees. There was blood filling its mouth, and it let out a strangled, wet snarl as it charged at Sam. Sam stepped to the side just in time, slashing downwards at its exposed back. Its steps faltered for a moment before it finally collapsed.

Another creature stepped over its body, and Sam could feel his hand beginning to shake with fatigue as he watched its approach. There was a rush of air beside him, and suddenly Barnes was right next to Sam, shoving his metal arm between the teeth of the monster just as it lunged at Sam. There was a horrible squealing noise as the creature’s teeth dragged across the surface of Barnes’ arm, before Barnes jerked it back and the creature went flying, smashing into the wall. Sam had a second to look at Barnes, blood flecking his face, before a large mass smashed into Sam’s back, _hard_ , and he went flying. There was a shout from Barnes, and then there was nothing but the pain radiating up his spine and the monster’s hot breath on the back of his neck as he hit the ground. He was twisting almost before he had finished moving, raising his knife and shoving it upwards into the creature’s gut. The animal yelped in pain, jerking away from Sam, and Sam watched as his knife was dragged through the creature’s flesh by its own movements, slitting its stomach open. It stood there for a moment, intestines beginning to slowly side from the gash in its stomach, before it jerked forward. Barnes was there again though, his hand grabbing ahold of its scruff and jerking it into the air. He reached down, grabbing ahold of the creature’s insides and yanking, and the animal died with a final whimper. Barnes turned towards Sam as Sam pulled himself back onto his feet, looking around himself. There weren’t any more creatures to either side of him, and–

“Down,” Barnes shouted, raising his gun, pointing directly at Sam, and Sam only had a second to think _one_ before he ducked. The sound of a final gunshot echoed through the passageway. Sam felt the air behind him move, and then there was a thud. Sam let out a shaky breath as Barnes lowered his gun, quickly turning to check the rest of the passageway for any remaining monsters. They were surrounded by unmoving mounds of black fur, and it was once again dead silent.

“Thanks,” he said, turning back to Barnes, unable to stop his voice from shaking. Barnes nodded, his eyes wide. Closing his eyes for a second, Sam took a deep breath before smiling at Barnes. After a second Barnes smiled back at him, the curve of his lips as tentative and uncertain as Sam’s felt. There was something in his throat, choking him. Something sweet, and hot, and hungry.

“Let’s get the fuck out of this mountain,” Barnes said, and Sam picked his way to him across the floor.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t encounter any other monsters for the remainder of their journey through the mountain, and Sam let out a relieved breath when they passed the familiar yawning maw of the elevator shaft. The sight of the opening to the mountain, minutes later, elicited the same reaction from Barnes, while Sam felt almost dizzy with relief. He pulled ahead of Barnes, jogging to stand in front of the open door. The snow was still violently swirling around outside of the mountain, and even though it was now night, it was still bright enough that Sam couldn’t help but flinch from it. The cold air sliding across his face was the best thing he’d felt in hours, and Sam closed his eyes, breathing deeply. A tension deep in his spine loosened as his lungs filled with the sharp smell of winter. Barnes stepped forward to stand next to him, and Sam opened his eyes. Barnes was staring out into the night, at the dancing snow, the wind that was just as strong as it had been when they’d first entered the mountain. His expression was soft, mouth slightly parted and crooked into a half-smile as he raised his face to the cold wind, sending snowflakes swirling towards his face. That same sweet, hot hunger snaked through the pit of Sam’s stomach as Barnes blinked up at the night sky.

“How are we going to get back to the helicopter?” Sam asked.

Barnes stared out at the night for a moment longer, before turning to Sam with a smile on his face and a look in his eyes that promised recklessness and danger and _flight_ and Sam couldn’t stop himself. His fingers tangled in Barnes’ hair, and he had a second to take in the way Barnes’ eyes widened with surprise before he was pressing his lips against Barnes’. His lips were chapped, but Sam was sure his were as well, and they dragged against each other as Sam tilted his head. Barnes let out a small, startled breath. His lips parted further and Sam took advantage of the movement, running his tongue along the inner edge of Barnes’ lower lip. With a final, soft press of his lips, Sam pulled back to see Barnes staring at him, shock written clearly across his face. Sam turned back towards the sky to avoid looking at him any longer. There was silence from the man next to him, and Sam swallowed roughly, blinking at the sting of the icy wind against his face. The night opened up before him, vast and welcoming, and his stomach twisted with anxiety.

He wasn’t expecting it when Barnes grabbed his arm, roughly pulling him around to face him. Sam barely had time to let out a small noise of surprise before Barnes was walking them both backwards until Sam’s back hit the stone wall. Barnes didn’t stop moving however, pressing up into Sam’s space and crushing their mouths together. The hunger inside of him rose up in an unstoppable wash as Sam’s hands flew up to clutch at the long strands of Barnes’ hair. Barnes tilted his head, and licked into Sam’s mouth. A frisson of heat shot up Sam’s spine as he bit at Barnes’ lip and the other man groaned into Sam’s mouth. Barnes’ breath was hot against Sam’s lips, and their mouths slid together easier now. Sam couldn’t get close enough, sliding one hand down Barnes’ neck to tug him closer, and Barnes’ teeth dragged at Sam’s lips. Sam’s tongue slid against Barnes, and he relished the way Barnes’ hands tightened on Sam’s arms in response.

The ice cold fingers of the wind wormed in between them, sending Barnes’ hair flying into both of their faces, yanking at them, and almost making them stumble. They broke apart, breathing heavily and staring at each other. Sam licked his own lips, which felt swollen and hot, and Barnes’ gaze immediately dropped down to follow the path of Sam’s tongue.

“We need to get back to the helicopter,” he rasped, not taking his eyes from Sam’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, voice breathier than he would have liked. Barnes finally managed to raise his gaze at that, turning to look outside. He stepped forward towards the edge, and Sam’s stomach dropped at the memory of watching him fall.

“I can climb again,” Barnes said, then glanced at Sam. “You’d have to climb too.” Sam shook his head.

“I can fly us both.” Barnes brow furrowed.

“The wind isn’t too strong?” Sam shook his head again.

“No,” he said, “not so long as we get a bit of distance between us and the cliff face before I activate the wings.” Barnes raised a single eyebrow.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” he asked, and Sam grinned.

 

* * *

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Barnes repeated for the third time. Sam smiled wider, adjusting his goggles. Barnes tugged at the straps strung between him and Sam. “Terrible,” he muttered again.

“Relax,” Sam said, repeating Barnes’ earlier words. “It’ll be fine.” Barnes snorted, but didn’t say anything else.

“Ready?” Sam asked. Barnes nodded, and then they were running, side-by-side in the narrow corridor. Their left feet struck the edge of the ledge at the same time and, synchronized, they launched themselves into space. There was a brief, heady moment where it felt like they were suspended, weightless, before gravity took ahold. Sam only waited another second before activating his wings. The straps tying Barnes’ belt to Sam’s snapped tight, and Barnes swung beneath him as Sam began to rise through the snow, deftly navigating the wind that buffeted at them. The air currents attempted to send them crashing into the side of the mountain, but Sam twisted out of their grip. He swung them around in a slow loop, rising until they were parallel to the opening, then crossing to the plateau. Sam lowered himself carefully until Barnes feet touched the ground. Once Barnes released the clips on the straps, Sam followed after him, landing on the rock next to him. Their rifles and Barnes’ pack were still where Sam had dropped them, too heavy for the wind to have swept away. They didn’t speak as they made their way through the snow to the helicopter. Barnes had to break up the ice that had formed over the door with his metal hand before they could climb inside. Sam paused, glancing back towards the mountain. Barnes stopped as well, half-inside the helicopter, turning back to see what had caused Sam to stop.

“We have to close it, somehow,” he said. He couldn’t see the entrance to the mountain through the snow but he could feel it, staring out at them, a hungry mouth waiting to swallow them whole. Barnes didn’t say anything, and Sam turned to look up at him, finding him smiling down at him.

“That’s what the rocket launcher is for,” he said.

“You have a rocket launcher?” Sam asked, before shaking his head, holding up a hand to stop Barnes from replying. “Never mind, of course you do.” He motioned for Barnes to move, and the other man finished climbing inside. Sam followed, shutting the door behind him with a grateful sigh, leaving the mountain to its dead. It wouldn’t be over until they’d closed the mountain for good, but even that small barrier allowed some of the tension to leech from Sam’s limbs. Barnes switched on the dim overhead light as he moved through the helicopter.

“Shit it’s cold,” Sam said. Barnes climbed into the pilot’s seat, humming his agreement. He spent a minute at the console before turning back to Sam.

“We won’t be able to leave until morning,” he said, and Sam nodded, not surprised. He took off his wings, setting them carefully on the back seats, before kneeling. He pulled the blankets he and Barnes had stashed beneath the seats out of their hiding spot, handing one over to Barnes, who wrapped it gratefully around himself. They both kicked off their boots and settled onto the floor of the helicopter, after Sam had spread out the spare blankets.

“First aid first,” Sam said, “then sleep.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Barnes said automatically, and Sam rolled his eyes at him, saving that argument for later. “And I don’t need any first aid.” Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“How’s your arm doing?” he asked, sardonic.

“Fine,” Barnes said, and when Sam shot him a doubting look, continued, “...mostly.” Sam continued to look at him, until Barnes, with a put-upon sigh, finally pulled off his jacket, then shirt, turning his arm towards Sam. “See?” he said, and Sam leaned in to look at what were now masses of scar tissue that looked days old, rather than hours, surrounded by dried blood. He hummed noncommittally, and it was Barnes turn to roll his eyes. Sam wasn’t able to stop his eyes from travelling up from Barnes’ arm to his chest, solidly muscled and covered in scars. He’d seen Barnes shirtless before, but the sight still sparked electric in his lungs. Sam cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, pulling out a bottle of saline solution and a cloth.

“C’m here,” he said, and Barnes shifted closer. Wetting the cloth, Sam gently dragged it across Barnes’ arm, clearing away the dried blood. He could feel Barnes’ eyes on him, but he didn’t look up as he finished, then tugged Barnes’ other arm towards him. Barnes went easily, and Sam wiped that arm too, cleaning away the blood of the monsters that had stained the joins. Finally, he looked up to find Barnes still staring at him, something dark and wild in his eyes as he looked back at Sam, and Sam fought not to shiver at the sight of it. He reached up, wiping the flecks of blood from Barnes’ face. Barnes shuddered, and leaned into Sam’s touch. Sam hesitated, as he finished, caught up in Barnes’ eyes, the heat in them.

“What?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Take off your shirt,” Barnes said, and Sam swallowed. He pulled off his jacket, then shirt. “Undershirt too,” Barnes said, and Sam complied. Barnes’ eyes travelled up Sam’s chest, face nakedly hungry as his eyes skimmed Sam’s torso. His gaze was so heavy that Sam swore he could almost feel it brushing across his skin as Barnes looked at him. “You’re hurt,” Barnes said, reaching out his fingers to ghost across Sam’s side. Sam flinched away from the touch, more from how cold Barnes’ fingers were than from the pain, and looked down to see a giant bruise blooming across his ribs.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, and it was Barnes’ turn to shoot Sam a skeptical look. Sam cleared his throat as he met Barnes’ eyes. “I can hardly feel it,” he said, which was true. Kind of. The way Barnes was looking at him was doing a good job of distracting him from it, at any rate. Barnes grabbed the first aid kit out from under the seat anyways.

“Come here,” he said, and Sam walked forward on his knees as Barnes opened the kit and took out a tub of numbing cream.

“It’s not that bad,” Sam protested again, but settled on his heels between Barnes’ spread legs anyways. Barnes didn’t look up as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves before scooping some of the cream out from the tub, spreading it on his hands before reaching up to run his hands down Sam’s ribcage. Sam let out a hiss at the touch, Barnes’ metal fingers freezing against his skin even as his touch sent heat shooting through Sam’s stomach. Barnes touch was so gentle as he spread the cream over Sam’s side that it made Sam’s stomach twist. He bit his lip against the pain, and against the sight of Barnes staring at where his hands were moving across Sam’s ribs, eyes intently focused. Sam had to look away for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to get control over the mess roiling in his stomach. The pass of Barnes’ fingers across his skin was so gentle that Sam wanted to cry or scream for the feeling of it. Finally, Barnes stopped his motions, and Sam looked down as Barnes removed only one hand, bringing it back up to grip at Sam’s other side, holding him between his legs. Their eyes met, and Barnes smiled softly up at Sam.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, and Sam couldn’t do anything but lean down and kiss him again. Barnes moved to meet him. Their lips brushed against each other, and Barnes shifted awkwardly, pulling off his gloves before raising his hands to cup Sam’s head as he pressed their lips together properly. Barnes tasted like nothing Sam had ever tasted before, and Sam couldn’t breathe with how good it was. One of Barnes’ arms moved to loop around Sam’s back, tugging him closer, careful of his bruised ribs. Sam went easily, dropping down and winding his own arms around Barnes’ shoulders as he bit at Barnes’ lip. The metal of Barnes’ shoulder was cool against Sam’s skin, and he shivered as Barnes’ fingers trailed up his back. Sam tried to move closer, but there was nowhere left for him to go, and he huffed in annoyance at their position. He pushed Barnes back, and Barnes went easily, eyes widening slightly as his face dropped. Rather than take the time to verbally reassure him that he wasn’t being rejected, Sam followed after him, crawling into his lap. Barnes groaned as their mouths collided back together, faster and more frantic as heat began to bloom between them. He groaned again when Sam’s hips hitched forward. Both of his hands dropped to grab Sam’s ass, and Sam couldn’t help the whimper that escaped. Barnes’ fingers kneaded at the flesh of Sam’s ass for a minute before he suddenly tightened his grip, pulling Sam towards him. Sam was already half-hard, and he moaned at the feeling of Barnes rubbing up against him. Barnes echoed the noise, dropping his mouth from Sam’s to nuzzle at Sam’s neck, lightly nipping the skin there. Sam dropped his head to the side to give him more room, and Barnes gladly took it, biting and sucking his way down Sam’s neck before moving back up to bite at his jaw. Sam couldn’t get a full breath into his lungs, the space between his ribs too full of something he didn’t want to name, couldn’t bear to name.

“Fuck,” Barnes said, as he kissed Sam again and again. “Fuck, wait,” he said, and Sam pulled back, then climbed off Barnes’ lap when the other man kept pushing. He watched, anxiety pooling in his stomach, sending a cold wash through his veins, as Barnes stood. The anxiety didn’t last long however, as Barnes immediately began pulling off his pants. Sam scrambled to do the same, watching transfixed as black fabric slid down to reveal powerful thighs, a dusting of dark hair leading towards Barnes’ crotch. Barnes glanced at Sam, who had paused in the middle of unbuttoning his own pants to take in the sight of Barnes stripping. Keeping eye contact with Sam, Barnes took ahold of the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down. Sam was the one to break eye contact then, unable to stop his gaze from dropping to Barnes’ crotch. Barnes’ dick wasn’t quite fully hard where it was nestled in a bed of black pubic hair. It was thick, and turning a beautiful dark red at the tip.

“Fuck,” Sam said, and Barnes’ laugh was only a bit relieved as he nodded towards Sam. Sam wondered if Barnes also felt like his blood was electric, like he would set anything he touched alight.

Sam felt like he could power a city.

“Off,” Barnes said, and Sam was happy to obey, leaning back and raising his ass off the ground to pull pants and briefs off in a single motion. Barnes groaned, and Sam looked up to find him staring at Sam’s cock, now fully hard and resting against the hard planes of his stomach.

“I want to suck your dick,” Barnes said.

“Jesus,” Sam said, and let Barnes push him back onto the blanket-covered floor. One of his hands splayed across Sam’s chest, the other going down to grip his thigh. Without further ceremony, or warning, Barnes ducked his head down to lick the length of Sam’s cock. The sound of Sam’s head hitting the floor echoed faintly as he moaned, hands coming up to grip at his own head as he fought not to thrust upwards. Barnes made a satisfied noise, then swallowed Sam down to the root. Sam couldn’t help but shout in surprise as his cock was engulfed in warm, wet heat. Barnes sucked, bobbing up and down, and Sam’s hands flew to tangle themselves in the strands of Barnes’ hair.

‘Oh my god, yes, Barnes, please.” Barnes hummed, the feeling sending shivers down Sam’s spine, and pulled off of Sam’s cock. Sam looked down to see Barnes looking back at him, a string of spit suspended between his lower lip and Sam’s cock and Sam swore he could almost come from that sight alone. He was dizzy with desire, with the strange feeling that they were stealing something that was never meant to belong to them.

“Call me Bucky,” Bar- Bucky said, and Sam nodded his agreement, movements verging on frantic.

“Please, Bucky,” Sam said, gently pushing Ba- Bucky’s head back down. Bucky went easily, huffing out a laugh against the tip of Sam’s dick before once again fitting his mouth over the shaft, sliding down until the head of Sam’s cock hit the back of his throat. He hesitated there for a moment before pressing forward, letting Sam’s dick slip into his throat until his nose was once again nestled into the black curly hairs at the base of Sam’s cock.

“Jesus, B- Bucky, baby, so good,” Sam moaned, unable to stop his back from arching up slightly as Bucky’s hand flexed on his thigh. “Oh my god, yes, please.” It was so good, the feeling of Bucky’s mouth around his cock, the way his tongue swirled around the tip of it, the press of his fingers on Sam’s thigh, the spread of his palm against Sam’s chest. “Oh jesus, wait, Bucky, wait.” Bucky pulled off immediately, looking up at Sam expectantly. Sam stared back at him for a moment before he was able to speak, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What is it?” Bucky said, nerves creeping into his voice.

“I want you to fuck me,” Sam said, and Bucky almost choked on nothing.

“What?” he said, voice slightly strangled.

“I want you to fuck me,” Sam repeated, barely listening to himself, overwhelmed with everything that he wanted, everything that he was just learning he was allowed. “Please baby, want to feel your cock inside me.” Sam hesitated for a second, then continued. “If… only if you want to, I don’t...” He trailed off.

Bucky laughed, the sound verging on hysterical. “Only if I want to,” he repeated. “Fuck, Sam,” he said, surging forward. He braced his hands on the floor on either side of Sam’s head as he kissed him. Sam moaned happily into the kiss, stroking his hands down Bucky’s sides as the other man licked into his mouth. Bucky was all hard muscle and sharp bones and Sam wanted to make a home for himself inside his chest. “Yes,” Bucky whispered into Sam’s mouth, and Sam laughed as he tugged at Bucky’s hair.

“Okay,” Sam said, and pushed Bucky away, leaning up on one elbow to grab at the first aid kit. He rummaged through it, on the verge of dumping the whole thing on the floor when his fingers finally closed around a string of condoms. “Here,” he said, thrusting them towards Bucky, who took it with a slightly uncertain look. Sam lay back down, kicking at Bucky when he didn’t move, just continued to stare down at Sam. “Have you not used one before?” he said, and Bucky made a face at him.

“Lube?” he asked, and Sam gestured at the condoms Bucky was holding.

“We only need one condom, squeeze the lube out of the extra ones.” Bucky bit his lip, nodding, and leaned back on his heels, ripping open one of the packets and setting the others to the side. “Wait,” Sam said as Bucky moved to squeeze the lube out onto his hand. Bucky looked up at Sam, brow furrowing in concern. “Use your other hand,” Sam said, “if you can.” Bucky’s eyes darkened, and Sam swore he could almost see his pupils dilate as he grabbed another glove out of the first aid kit before switching the packet to his other hand. He squeezed the packet, pushing out the extra lubricant, and his fingers came away slick and glimmering in the low lighting of the helicopter cabin. Sam watched as Bucky’s hand disappeared between his legs, throwing his head back with a groan at the first touch of a slick metal finger.

“Yes,” he said. “Please, Bucky, please.” Bucky pushed, and the finger sank into Sam slowly, thick and unyielding and still cold, colder than Bucky’s skin, colder than his other hand would have been. Sam moaned at the sensation as smooth metal and raised joins moved into him as Bucky’s finger slipped inside.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky said, eyes locked between Sam’s thighs, where his finger was disappearing inside the other man. He pulled out just as slowly as he had entered, pushing back slightly faster as Sam moaned again. He continued to slide the single finger in and out of Sam, slowly, too slowly, until Sam kicked at him again.

“Another,” he said, and, “faster.” Bucky obeyed, sliding two fingers into Sam. Sam groaned at the sensation, the increased size sending shocks of pleasure up his spine and he arched his back. He raised his hands up to once again grasp at his own head, unable to help the small jerks of his hips as he fucked himself back onto the two fingers Bucky was now pumping in and out of his ass. It wasn’t long before he was back to begging Bucky for more, desperate to feel the other man inside of him. Bucky hesitated, stilling above him.

“Another finger?” he asked. “Or?” Sam nodded his head, frantic, as he reached up, pulling Bucky down into another searing kiss. He bit Bucky’s lip, _hard_ , and the other man groaned into his mouth, his free hand sliding up to cradle Sam’s head, thumb tracing his jawline.

“Please,” Sam said into Bucky’s mouth. “Please, want you inside me. I’m ready, please.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, panting into Sam’s mouth. “Okay, I-” he broke off, looking down the lengths of their bodies, and Sam followed his gaze to watch him pull his fingers from Sam’s ass. Pulling off the glove, Bucky opened another condom, sliding it onto his cock before lining up the head with Sam’s hole. He pushed forward, and they both groaned. The head slid inside slowly, so slowly, and the rest followed at the same pace. Bucky panted into the space between them, neither of them capable of kissing as the sensation of Bucky sliding slowly inside of Sam overwhelmed them both. He was thick, thicker than his fingers, and so, so hot inside of Sam. He pressed inside, filling him up, and Sam whimpered, reaching up to press sloppy kisses to Bucky’s face.

“Please,” Sam said, scraping his teeth across the hard line of Bucky’s jaw. After what felt like forever, Bucky finally bottomed out, and both men just lay there for a moment, lost to the sensation. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, and Sam was consumed by how much he wanted Bucky. Finally, Bucky’s hips jerked, his cock only moving an inch in and out of Sam. It was enough to make both of them groan however, and to spur Bucky into action properly. He started fucking just as slowly as he had started fingering, sliding his cock in and out at a pace that made Sam want to cry with frustration. When he tried to jerk his hips to fuck himself back onto Bucky’s cock, the other man stilled him, holding him pressed to the ground.

“Let me,” Bucky whispered. “Let me, Sam, God, look at you.” Sam whimpered as Bucky leaned down to bite at Sam’s collarbone. Bucky began to speed up, cock driving in and out of Sam’s ass, faster and faster, punching breathy noises of pleasure out of Sam.

“Fuck me,” he said. “Please, fuck, Bucky, oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said into the hollow of Sam’s throat. “Yeah, I–”. He trailed off, before reaching down and hooking his arms around Sam’s legs, lifting them up and speeding up his thrusts as he did. He held Sam like that for a couple of thrusts before Sam pulled one leg from Bucky’s grip, throwing it over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky shifted his weight, and Sam threw his head back with a shout as pleasure sparked through him, head to toe. He blinked open his eyes to see Bucky grinning down at him, wild and possessive and so, so, happy. He fucked into Sam and Sam couldn’t help but cry out again, mouth falling open and head tilting back as Bucky hit that spot again and again. He was shaking, but so was Bucky, tremors running down his back as he drove his cock in and out of Sam.

“So fucking beautiful,” Bucky muttered as he kissed his way back up to Sam’s mouth, and they kissed sloppily as Bucky fucked Sam. He was forcing breathy little cries of pleasure from Sam every time he thrust back inside now, and Sam felt like he was shaking apart at the seams.

“I’m going to–” he said, and Bucky was nodding his head before Sam even finished speaking.

“Me too,” he said, “me too, Sam–”, and Bucky dropped Sam’s leg to take ahold of his cock, fingers brushing across the length, thumbing at the tip. Sam groaned at the feeling of warm fingers sliding up and down his cock, and he jerked upwards.

“Oh god, oh god, Bucky, Bucky,” Sam said, and then he was coming, come streaking his stomach as his cock twitched in Bucky’s grip.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped out, and grabbed Sam’s hips with both hands, slamming into him quickly, thrusts turning uneven and frantic. With a final gasping moan, he stilled, and Sam could feel his cock jerking inside of him. They both lay there, gasping for breath, Bucky’s forehead pressed against Sam’s. Finally, he rolled to the side, both men groaning at the feeling of Bucky’s softening cock slipping from Sam.

“Jesus,” Sam said, staring up at the ceiling of the helicopter. Bucky didn’t say anything, but Sam could hear him moving around next to him, disposing of the condom. After a moment, a blanket settled on top of Sam. He turned in surprise to see Bucky rolling up another blanket, looking vaguely embarrassed.

“Here,” he said, nudging Sam up so he could tuck the blanket under his head like a pillow, before grabbing his own discarded blanket. Bucky slid under Sam’s blanket before settling his own over the both of them. He lay down, keeping a careful couple of inches between them, which, no, Sam didn’t think so. Sam rolled over, tucking himself into Bucky’s side, feeling the other man stiffen at his action. Sam didn’t move away however, and after a moment Bucky shifted to wrap his arm around Sam’s shoulders, settling Sam more firmly into the solid mass of Bucky’s chest.

“You’re beautiful too, y’know,” Sam mumbled into a yawn, before the day overtook him and he slipped into sleep.


	7. We're bigger than our bodies

The entrance to the mountain had disappeared with a muted crack, chunks of rock and snow tumbling down the cliff. Bucky and Sam watched from the helicopter, not speaking, though Sam suspected Bucky shared Sam’s deep sense of relief as they watched the mountain wipe away its secrets. They had waited until the snow had completely settled, until there was no sign remaining that anyone had ever been there, before Bucky had turned the helicopter around and pointed them back at civilization. They hadn’t stayed in Moscow long, just just long enough to sell off the helicopter to a new group of sketchy Russians, trading it for a duffel bag full of money before climbing aboard the trans-Siberian. Bucky had paid for them to travel in first class so they could be alone in a cabin, which Sam was grateful for, though showing that they had money always ran the risk of drawing more attention to themselves than they would have liked. There was now several days between them and the mountain, but Sam still felt the darkness in his bones, the haunting echo of what was almost their graves. He didn’t want to think about Hydra the entire week they were going to be on the train. All he wanted to do was sleep, hopefully without nightmares, and maybe suck Bucky’s dick.

They still hadn’t talked about it, not that Sam was surprised by that, not talking about things seemed to be the preferred MO of WWII supersoldiers. That hadn’t stopped Bucky from tugging Sam into a gentle, painfully chaste kiss when they packed up their gear in Moscow, or when they left the warehouse where they picked up the money for the helicopter, or when they first arrived in their train cabin. Sam was more hesitant to initiate anything, painfully aware that they were in Russia, that he was a gay black man travelling with a queer white man. Still, it didn’t stop him from looking at Bucky and _wanting_. Didn’t stop him from closing his eyes and remembering the sensation of Bucky pushing into him, his breath hot against Sam’s neck as he fucked him. Sam didn’t think there was anything in the world that could get him to stop thinking about that. 

Steve tested that theory, however, by calling Sam mid-way through their first night on the train. Sam blinked awake, bleary-eyed, to the sound of his phone ringing right next to his head. Groaning, he raised his head, meeting Bucky’s eyes where he sat on the opposite bunk, apparently cleaning his guns for the twelfth time that day. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. Shaking his head, Sam flipped open his phone, answering it with something that might have vaguely resembled a greeting. 

“Sam?” Steve’s voice carried down the line, staticy with distance. 

“Hey,” Sam said, blinking hard and trying to sound marginally more awake than he felt. “Steve. Whats up.”

“Did I wake you?” Sam waved his hand through the air above him.

“No worries. What’s up.” There was a pause, and Sam closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before letting it out. 

“There’s this… guy.” Sam hummed when Steve paused. “Um, he wants to… “ Steve trailed off again, sighing heavily, and Sam could almost see him running a hand over his face. 

“Who is he?” Sam asks. 

“His name is Helmut Zemo,” Steve said after a long moment of silence. “He wants Bucky.” Sam froze, feeling everything in him instantly tense up. 

“Wants him how?” he asked, ignoring the feeling of Bucky’s eyes on him.

“He was… he’s Sokovian. He wants revenge on the Avengers. For what Ultron did.” 

“That wasn’t your fault,” Sam said, automatically. Steve sighed again. 

“I’m not… it wasn’t… it doesn’t matter, whose fault it was,” he said. _Bullshit_ , Sam thought, _it matters when shit like this happens because of it_. But he didn’t say any of that, and after a moment, Steve continued. “We aren’t sure why, but he’s been looking for Bucky. Tasha thinks he’s going to try and activate him, use him against us.” A shiver twisted down Sam’s spine and he felt as though someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. 

“Activate him?” he asked, quite certain he wasn’t going to like the answer. 

“There’s… things, programmed into Bucky’s head, things that someone could use to control him.” 

“Like, brainwashing triggers or something?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “listen, Sam, you should come back to New York, I can– we can protect you and–” Steve broke off, clearing his throat, “–you and... Bucky, here.” 

“No.”

“What?”

“Sorry Steve, but no. This Zemo guy doesn’t know where we are, but he sure as hell knows where Avengers tower is.”

“You don’t know that he doesn’t know where you are,” Steve argued. 

“Do you even know where we are?” Sam countered, and there was only silence from the other end of the line. Sam sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, I’ll talk to Bucky about it Steve but my– my first instinct is, if he doesn't know where we are, why go to one of the only places he would know to look?” Sam paused for a second. “Unless you have intel that says he knows where we are?”

“No,” Steve admitted with obvious reluctance, “no, the intel Tasha was able to dig up was really vague. But,” he continued before Sam could speak, “that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know where you are.” Sam bit his lip. 

“Yeah I get that, I guess… Look, I’ll talk to Barnes about it and I’ll let you know.” There was a pause before Steve spoke again.

“How is he?” Steve asked, voice filled with forced nonchalance. Sam was so incredibly grateful that Steve wasn’t with them, couldn’t see his face as his eyes cut to Bucky automatically, and he felt his cheeks heat. Bucky’s head tilted as he looked at him, a smug smile curling his lips, and Sam was reminded that Bucky almost certainly could hear both sides of his and Steve’s conversation. 

“He’s good,” Sam replied, not looking away from Bucky. “Doing better.” Steve sighed. 

“Good,” he said. “That’s… that’s good. Thank you Sam.” 

“For what?” Sam asked, startled. 

“For looking after him. And I hope… I hope he’s looking after you too.” Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling of the cabin as Bucky began to shake with silent laughter. 

“We’re doing okay,” Sam said. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Be careful.” And then there was nothing on the other end of the line except for static. Sam flipped the phone shut. There was a moment of silence, and Sam tried to brace himself for the conversation that would happen next. 

“Someone was always going to come,” Bucky finally said, and Sam turned to look at him. Bucky wasn’t looking at him however, instead staring down at the half-assembled gun in his lap. His amusement had left as quickly as it had arrived, and what Sam could see of his face was carefully blank. He fiddled with one of the gun’s components as he talked, an uncharacteristic sign of nerves that made Sam’s stomach tense. “I thought I’d… I thought they were all dead, everyone who knew the words, but…” he trailed off. 

“You mean the triggers?” Sam asked, trying to keep his voice neutral and free of judgement. “You knew about them?” Bucky flinched anyways, nodding. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t remember… there’s a lot I don’t remember, but that was one of the ways that they took control, stripped me away and brought out the Soldier. They would say… and then I would just _obey_.” Sam bit his lip, but forced himself to move past that 

“Do you know what they are?” Sam asked. Bucky shook his head. 

“No, just that there were words. I think if I knew them I could… could condition myself against them. Maybe? But I haven’t found them written down anywhere and everyone who knew them is dead. Well,” he corrected, “maybe not. All of the Hydra officers who knew them, though, they are dead. The last one died in São Luís a month before I met you.” Sam sat in silence for a moment, digesting that information.

“What do you want to do?” he asked eventually. Bucky shook his head, looking up. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ve been good about staying off the grid, staying off Hydra’s radar, but Natalia still managed to find us.”

“So you think this Zemo guy could know where we are?” Bucky shrugged. 

“He could. He could not.” He sighed, reaching up to run his hands through his hair, looking down at the floor as his brow furrowed with frustration. “There’s no way to know without talking to people, and we’re stuck on this train.”

“We could get off?” Sam suggested. “At the next stop, or even just jump the train.” He paused, considering that, before realizing how incredibly sparse Steve’s intel had really been. Bucky shook his head. 

“There’s just not enough to go off of,” Bucky said, echoing Sam’s thoughts. “For all we know, this guy could be looking for us in South America. Or he could be in the next train car.” 

“Shit,” Sam said, with feeling. Bucky huffed out a half-laugh. “So, stay the course,” Sam said after a moment. Bucky shrugged. 

“It’s not any more or less risky than any of our other options. Jumping the train right now would probably be the least predictable, but we have no idea if it is necessary or even beneficial.” Sam nodded.

“What do you think about what Steve suggested? Going to New York.” Bucky licked his lower lip before biting it. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Sam sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, bracing his hands against the mattress.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I miss home. I miss Steve, and my family, and sleeping in one place for more than one night.” He raised his head. “But if you want to keep… if you don’t want to go back yet, that’s okay.” Bucky was looking at him, expression careful. 

“I think…” he started, trailing off. “I don’t… it’s a lot,” he admitted. “I _want_ to want to go there, to see Steve, to stop hunting.” 

“But you don’t?” Sam asked, and Bucky shrugged. 

“Hydra’s still out there,” he said. “There’s more bases, more dead things waiting to be unearthed and used to set the world on fire. More men like Pierce.” 

“So we keep hunting them,” Sam said. Bucky’s face twisted. 

“You don’t have to,” he said, and Sam raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I know that,” he said. “I choose to. I can help, so I do.” Bucky swallowed.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for helping me.” Sam looked away, staring blankly at the door to the cabin. 

“It wasn’t just for you,” he said, and there was a moment of silence. 

“I know,” Bucky said, voice soft. “But still. Thank you. For… for being with me. For helping me.” 

“You helped yourself,” Sam said. “I can’t… I can’t do anything else for you.” He didn’t hear Bucky move, but he was suddenly in front of Sam, kneeling with his hands on Sam’s knees. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You helped me plenty.” Sam waved a hand around. 

“Fighting, yeah, but in terms of your… past, there’s nothing I can do, I’m not–” 

“Talking to you helped,” Bucky interrupted. “Everything about you helped. Yeah, there’s still stuff, things that–” he broke off, taking a deep breath. “–that I’ll have to deal with eventually. But that’s on me.” 

“I just wish I could help you more,” Sam whispered, and Bucky raised a hand, stroking his fingers softly down the side of Sam’s face. 

“You can’t save everybody,” he said, voice gentle and filled with pain. “You can’t save me. I have to do that.” Sam shuddered, leaning forward, arms wrapping around himself. 

“I don’t want to leave anyone else behind,” he said, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam’s back, pulling him off the bunk and into Bucky’s lap. 

“You won’t,” he said, “I won’t leave you.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s face, and Sam shuddered with the weight of things he wasn’t yet willing to name. He let himself slump into Bucky’s warmth, unwrapping his arms around himself to wind them around Bucky’s back. They sat in silence, the steady weight of Bucky’s arms around him an anchor, a balm. They sat, until Sam no longer felt raw around the edges. 

“What are we going to do?” Sam asked. 

“Let’s go to New York,” Bucky said, and Sam pulled back to look him in the face. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, and Bucky nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “It’s time.” Sam leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips.

“Okay,” he said. “Should we leave now, or wait for the morning, or...?” Bucky laughed, the movement shaking Sam on his lap, and Sam couldn’t help but smile in return. 

“I think we can wait until Novosibirsk,” he said. “Do you think Stark’s kid would send a jet to pick us up?” 

“I’m sure Steve can convince him,” Sam said. Bucky shook his head. 

“It is a tradition, you know.” Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion, though a smile still lingered on his lips. 

“What?” 

“A Stark flying Steve out to rescue me,” he said. “Did Steve ever tell you about the fondue thing?” Sam couldn’t help but laugh. 

“He did,” he said, “he also said that you didn’t stop mocking him for it until the day you died.” Bucky shrugged, smirking. 

“Would you have?” he asked. Sam shook his head, leaning down to press another kiss to Bucky’s lips. He tried to pull back but Bucky reached around to grip the back of his neck, pulling him back down and capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. 

“We should get ready,” Sam whispered, pulling back slightly. “We’ll be in Novosibirsk in the morning.” Bucky shook his head, brushing his lips over Sam’s with the motion. 

“We’ve got a couple of hours,” he said, the words hot against Sam’s mouth. Sam couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah?” he said, “And what would you suggest we do for those couple of hours, if not packing and getting ready to go?” Bucky hummed.

“I’ve got a couple of ideas,” he said, leaning down to kiss Sam’s neck. Sam licked his lips, tilting his head back to give Bucky better access to trail his lips across the soft skin of Sam’s neck. 

“We have to call Steve first,” he said, and Bucky’s forehead thumped down against Sam’s shoulder. Sam bit his lip to stop from laughing, staring up at the cabin ceiling. Bucky didn’t say anything, but a second later Sam’s phone was being pressed into his hand. Sam pushed Bucky away so he could flip the phone open, but didn’t bother to move off of his lap. He dialed from memory, and Steve picked up after only a single ring. 

“Sam?” he asked in greeting. 

“We’re going to come to New York,” Sam said, and Steve let out a noise somewhere between joyful and pained. 

“Oh,” he said, voice slightly strangled. “That– that’s great, I… I’m really happy to hear that.” Sam smiled at Bucky and Bucky smiled back, tentatively. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna need a ride though.”

“Of course,” Steve said without hesitation. “Where from?” 

“Novosibirsk,” Sam said. “Russia. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.” 

“Novosibirsk,” Steve repeated, then said it again, voice faint as if he had pulled away from the phone. “How long?” he said, voice still distant, and Sam heard the faint sounds of someone replying to him. 

“We can be there in five hours,” Steve finally said, returning to the phone. Sam nodded, not bothering to ask who ‘we’ was.. 

“We’ll be waiting. I’ll call you with specific coordinates once we arrive.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said, pausing before adding, “I can’t wait to see you Sam. I’ve missed you. And, um. Bucky too.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “We’re excited to see you too.” He flipped the phone shut, tossing it back onto his bunk. “You okay?” he asked Bucky, and the other man nodded, looking slightly surprised at himself. 

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah it… it’s good.”

“Good,” Sam said, leaning in for a kiss. Bucky hummed happily as he deepened the kiss in turn, licking across the seam of Sam’s mouth until he opened for him. Bucky’s mouth was hot against his, tongue insistent as it slid against Sam’s. One hand slid to cup Sam’s ass while the other dragged slowly up Sam’s spine. He reached Sam’s neck, cupping the back of it and using the leverage to pull Sam in deeper, kiss him harder. Sam went easily, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and grinding down, just a little bit, just enough to feel Bucky let out a small huff of surprise. Sam smiled against his lips, pulling back a bit to look at the other man. Bucky was flushed, eyes dark as he stared back at Sam. 

“What?” he asked. Sam shook his head. 

“Nothing,” he said, and Bucky frowned. 

“If you don’t… I don’t… we didn’t talk about it but if you… don’t want this–” Sam cut him off with a kiss, which seemed to satisfy Bucky. Sam could feel the curve of his lips against his own as he smiled. Sam pulled back until their lips were barely touching. 

“Do you? Want to, I mean?” Sam asked. 

“Yes,” Bucky breathed, the word barely ghosting across Sam’s lips before they were crashing back into each other. Sam couldn’t help the hitch of his hips as Bucky licked back into his mouth, teeth dragging across his lips as his fingers dug into the back of Sam’s head. Bucky ground back up into him, the hand on his ass squeezing as he pushed Sam down onto his dick. Sam was beginning to be able to feel Bucky’s cock pressing against his ass. Bucky dropped his mouth from Sam’s, tugging at the back of his neck until Sam tilted his head backwards, giving Bucky better access to bit at Sam’s neck. Bucky dragged his teeth along the stubble-covered skin of Sam’s jaw line before pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below the hinge of the bone. Sam let out a little sigh as Bucky worked at that spot, biting and kissing and sucking, Sam knew he wouldn’t be happy about it later when he had to see Steve for the first time in months with a giant hickey on his neck, but just then, in that moment, it was completely worth it. He let himself get lost in the moment, in the feeling of Bucky’s hand letting go of his ass, snaking around to cup the growing bulge of Sam’s cock through his pants. Sam couldn’t help but moan into Bucky’s mouth as the other man squeezed gently, pleasure blooming hot and heavy in his stomach. 

“Fuck, Bucky,” Sam groaned out. Bucky shook with silent laughter as he tilted Sam’s head back down so he could kiss him again.They both got lost in the taste of each other’s mouths for a long moment, everything else falling by the wayside as their tongues slid against each other. There was something sweet in the drag of teeth, in the way that Bucky’s grip tightened on Sam’s cock. Something small and warm and growing that Sam didn’t want to look at too closely. Once you had something, it was far too easy to lose it. 

Sam wasn’t thinking about that, though, when he pulled away from Bucky, shoving the other man backwards to crawl across him. Sam kissed him deeply as he settled his ass against the growing hardness of Bucky’s dick, and Bucky groaned into Sam’s mouth. Sam felt Bucky’s hands skim down the length of Sam’s back, pausing to squeeze his ass before picking up the bottom edge of Sam’s shirt. Bucky dragged Sam’s shirt up, and Sam broke their kiss, ducking his head to let the other man pull it all the way off. Bucky tossed it to the side, and Sam watched as Bucky’s eyes fell to Sam’s chest. Desire was written clear across his face, and it made Sam want to do something to encourage it, something to make Bucky want him even more than he already did. He wanted to show off for the other man in a way that he hadn’t wanted to show off for anyone else in a long time. He rolled his hips, biting his lip and smiling as Bucky groaned. Sam ground down once more then stopped moving just to see the flash of disappointment across Bucky’s face, to see the hunger grow in his eyes as he opened them and stared up at Sam. Sam looked away, glancing at the two small bunks on either side of the cabin. 

“We could get onto a bed this time,” he said, voice filled with obvious trepidation. Bucky leaned his head backwards, craning his neck to glance at both bunks. 

“Think we can do it without giving one or both of us a concussion?” he asked. Sam wrinkled his nose. 

“No,” he said, and couldn’t help but return the smile that Bucky shot him then. 

“The floor’s fine then,” he said, and Sam huffed in false annoyance before leaning down to kiss the other man. His fingers plucked at the bottom edge of Bucky’s shirt, but unlike Bucky he didn’t move to pull it off, just teasing, until finally Bucky let out an annoyed noise. He pushed Sam’s hands away, leveraging his torso up slightly off the ground. Sam’s eyes caught on the flex of Bucky’s stomach muscles, clear and defined against his skin as he held the half-sit up and pulled his shirt off himself. Bucky’s thumbs rubbed against Sam’s hipbones as he lay back down, pulling Sam against him. They kissed, hands trailing over newly-bared skin, exploring and covetous. Sam ground down against Bucky as he licked into his mouth, thumb stroking across the underside of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky broke off to whisper against Sam’s lips. 

“Take them off,” he said, letting go of one hip to slide his hand around, pressing his hand down on the back of Sam’s pants. Sam lifted himself up on his knees, slowly undoing the button and watching as Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on the movement. Sam pulled down the zipper, revealing black briefs, before standing and removing his pants the rest of the way. Bucky bit his lip as he sat up, rolling onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Sam’s knee. The gentleness of the gesture was startling, and Sam’s eyes were still wide when Bucky leaned back to look up at him. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” Sam said back, reaching out with a foot to nudge at the fabric still covering Bucky’s legs. “Your turn.” Bucky nodded, not looking away from Sam as he undid his clasps, rolling off his knees and onto his ass as he grabbed the top of the pants and pulled them off in one deft motion. He wasn’t wearing anything under them this time, and Sam couldn’t help but lick his lips as he looked down at Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s legs fell open to a ‘v’ as he leaned backwards and looked up at Sam, face flushed. 

“Fuck,” Sam said, and slid off his briefs before climbing back into Bucky’s lap. Bucky laughed as he tilted his head upwards for Sam to kiss, which he did happily. He shivered slightly as the metal of Bucky’s arm wrapped around his waist, the other rising back to his face to guide the kiss. Bucky hitched Sam against him at the same time as Sam’s hips jerked forward of their own accord, and both men groaned. Sam let one of his hands rest against the side of Bucky’s neck as the other trailed down his chest, tracing scars and muscles, passing over one nipple, hard under the pad of Sam’s finger as he pressed down. Bucky groaned, then groaned louder as Sam’s hand finally finished travelling downwards to wrap around Bucky’s cock. 

“There’s lube in my pants,” Bucky said, voice slightly strained, and Sam laughed.

“Decided to be prepared after last time?” Sam asked, reaching to where Bucky’s pants had ended up, crumpled on the floor near Sam’s feet. 

“A soldier is always prepared,” Bucky said, voice suddenly prim and utterly unlike himself. He broke as soon as Sam laughed however, smiling up at him. Sam leaned back in, having finally found the lube (and gloves), in the pocket of Bucky’s pants. Sam dropped the gloves to the side as he uncapped the lube, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it before dropping his hand back to Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s eyes slid shut and he moaned as Sam gripped him.The wet sound of flesh sliding against flesh filled the cabin as Bucky’s hips hitched up and Sam slid his hand up and down the shaft of Bucky’s cock. He thumbed at the head, which made Bucky groan, and Sam leaned forward and kissed the small sounds of pleasure right out of his mouth. Sam was just starting to get a good rhythm down when his hand was pushed away. Sam pulled back, slightly thrown by the sudden stop, to see Bucky, having already pulled a glove onto his metal hand, smearing lube between his fingers. 

“Here,” he said, awkwardly shifting Sam in his lap slightly, “let me–”. He pushed Sam’s hand further to the side, using his right hand to reach around and grab Sam’s ass, sliding them closer together. Sam’s cock rubbed against Bucky’s, and Sam groaned. Bucky reached down and took both of their cocks in hand, setting up a steady pace that had Sam dropping his head back in pleasure. 

“God, fuck, Bucky,” Sam said, “Jesus that feels so good, you’re so good.” Bucky jerked slightly beneath him, before leaning up to bite at the edge of Sam’s jaw, leaving a trail of soft kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. 

“You’re good,” Bucky mumbled into the skin there. Bucky’s lips were pressed so tight against Sam’s shoulder that he could barely hear the words, mouthed against his skin like a secret, like a benediction. The coolness of Bucky’s hand was as good on Sam’s dick as it had been sliding inside of him. Sam was dizzy with it. The ridges of the joins of Bucky’s fingers added a texture to the motions that was unlike anything Sam had ever felt before. Sam’s hips were moving forward in helpless little motions as he chased after the pressure of Bucky’s hand on their cocks, the feeling of the smooth skin of Bucky’s dick pressed against his own. Unlike the coolness of his metal hand, Bucky’s cock was hot against his own, like it could sear Sam’s skin, scar him for life. 

The slick slide of Bucky’s hand against him, the feeling of his thumb skimming the head of Sam’s cock, all of it became overwhelming. Sam pressed his forehead down onto Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky was mumbling, begging or something else. Sam couldn’t keep track of the words falling from his mouth, his head swimming with sensation and the rising tide of pleasure rolling within him. He gasped out that he was getting close, but Bucky didn’t slow down, and it only took a couple more strokes before his orgasm rose through his body as he came in short, messy spurts between them. Bucky let go of Sam’s cock, stroking his own faster and faster as he chased his own pleasure. Sam raised his head, pressed his mouth next to Bucky’s ear.

“C’mon,” he said, “Bucky, c’mon.” He dropped his head to bite down on the meat of Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky groaned as he followed after Sam, come streaking the glove covering his hand. 

They stayed wrapped up in each other as they panted, both coming down from the high of their orgasms. There was sweat drying on Sam’s skin and lube all over the place, but even after his heart rate began to slow, he still didn’t want to move. Wrapped up in Bucky’s arms was a familiar shivery warmth that Sam didn’t want to name even as he admitted to himself how much he’d missed feeling it. He shifted, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s neck, and Bucky began to stroke one of his hands up and down the length of Sam’s back, bumping over the ridges of his spine. Bucky’s breath was hot against Sam’s ear, and Sam felt like he could stay there forever. Eventually, however, he had to pull back, though he didn’t make it far before Bucky was reaching out to him, pulling him back into a gentle kiss. Bucky hummed happily into the kiss, as they licked into each other’s mouths. Sam was the first one to break the kiss, but Bucky still didn’t let him go, tugging Sam until they were once again pressed together completely, wrapping his arms around him. Bucky breathed out, a small, content noise, and Sam couldn’t help but smile against his skin.


	8. The sound that we make is thunder

The train arrived in Novosibirsk with little fanfare, just another pause in their journey for the majority of the other passengers, and Sam and Bucky slipped off of the train unnoticed, Sam’s wings and Bucky’s duffle the only luggage between them. The platform was covered in a rolling fog, the ice particles in the air glinting off the scant light offered by the lampposts. Figures moved through the dimness, disembarking and boarding, their voices muffled. Sam and Bucky were just another pair of ghosts as they made their way across the sparsely populated platform. Bucky led them through the echoing expanses of the empty interior of the building, until they finally exited into the city. The facade of the building was an unexpected teal blue, turned pale and washed out in the darkness, and Sam couldn’t help but keep glancing back at the strange sight as they walked away. It was slightly disconcerting, so unexpected after the brutal Soviet architecture they had encountered for much of their journey. 

The flat grey light of early morning, sun not yet risen, gave the city a dead feeling as they began to walk through the empty streets. They had decided to travel on foot, for both ease and the reduced risk of discovery – the car rental desk in the train station had not yet been open, and they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by stealing a car, not then. It did mean that leaving the city would take longer than Sam had accounted for. They needed to leave civilization well behind to find somewhere that Steve, and whoever he was bringing with him, could land their jet without discovery. With the two hours that had already passed on the train, they were left with only three hours to find a location, and Sam could feel the deadline weighing down on him. His stomach was twisting with an unpleasant combination of anxiety and excitement that left his skin buzzing with directionless nervous energy. 

Sam and Bucky fell into an easy pace as they made their way through winding streets, avoiding the larger intersections. Their similar military training, though acquired decades apart, set their feet to the pavement in step with each other. A thin layer of frost crunched underfoot as they walked across cracked sidewalks, passing closed shopfronts. Sam felt almost painfully aware of the other man, would have been even without the occasional jolt of Bucky’s shoulder brushing his own. Sam wanted to kiss him again, was having trouble thinking of anything else as the silence of the city wrapped around them. The occasional distant sound of a car engine was the only noise to echo down the streets as they finally began to leave the centre of the city, tall buildings dropping away in favour of small shops and endless houses. They had passed several long bridges, stretching out and disappearing into the haze of fog that still cloaked the city, but it was when they reached the highway that Bucky finally nudged Sam. Across the bridge, Sam could see the spires of trees beginning to rise above the fog and constant buildings. 

“You think?” he asked. Bucky shaded his eyes from the non-existent sun as he peered over the bridge, before shrugging. 

“It looks like there’s quite a bit of woods. We won’t know until we cross though,” he turned and looked at Sam, who didn’t think long before nodding. 

“Might as well check and see,” he said, and they once again resumed walking, turning to head over the bridge. The water beneath them was black, what they could see of it between twisting banks of fog. Though the busier road meant that the occasional car passed them, Sam still felt like they were stuck inside a strange, unreal landscape devoid of other humans. He wasn’t sure if the sense of everything being slightly out of step of where it should have been was due to the fog and foreignness of the city, or if it was because he was finally going home. _Bucky_ was going home, with Sam, and that thought filled Sam with such a confusing swirl of emotions he didn’t even know how to begin to unpack them. 

Across the bridge, the road disappeared into the forest, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of so many trees, disappearing off into the fog. Though it was difficult to judge from the road, he thought that it might be dense enough, and large enough, to disguise the arrival of a quinjet. The sidewalk disappeared after a final few buildings, clinging to the edge of the road and threatening to be swallowed up by the forest. Sam and Bucky passed them, and moved into the ditch, walking parallel to the road. Free of the pavement, Sam and Bucky reverted to their familiar single-file formation, with Bucky in front and Sam in the back. Their pace slowed as the uneven ground forced them to watch where their feet were falling. Sam did some quick math in his head. Though the fog would help muffle the sounds of the landing, and the cloaking technology would render the jet invisible, it was impossible to cover all the noise of a jet landing. They would need to get at least five miles between them and the edges of the city if they wanted to be truly, completely undetectable. 

When Sam finally spotted a break in the treeline, what looked to be an animal path, they had already travelled about three miles outside of the city. He nudged Bucky’s shoulder, tilting his head towards the slightly trampled, narrow path. Bucky walked over, crouching and reaching out with one hand to touch a broken branch, looking down the narrow opening between the trees. When he stood back up, he nodded at Sam and they moved into the forest in silence. The trees rose around them, straight and narrow, and with the fog twisting between them, Sam couldn’t help but compare it to every horror movie he’d ever seen. The prints on the path marked it as a frequently used trail for deer and rabbits however, and they hadn’t seen another person in at least half an hour. A couple of times he’d heard a twig snap, the noise muffled and distorted by the heavy air and impossible to track. They hadn’t seen any movement though, other than one rabbit that bolted from the underbrush as they walked past it, making both men reach for their guns. Sam thought that the solitude, the peace of the early morning air, might be nice if they were literally anywhere else. If they were literally anyone else. 

As it was, both of them were firmly on edge by the time they reached a clearing. They glanced at each other for confirmation, but both of them knew instantly, looking around the space, that there was no way anyone would be able to land a jet there. The trail picked up again on the other side of the small field, and they continued on their way. By the time they reached a third clearing, again too small, both of them were becoming frustrated. The third clearing was oblong in shape, and would have been large enough, maybe, for a very talented pilot, were it not for the single, massive tree growing in the centre of it. Sam and Bucky both stared up at the tree from beneath it. It was a beautiful tree, Sam had to admit, old and wide, bearing the scars of its years as it reached proudly upwards. 

He wanted to chop it down. 

“Do they have to land?” Bucky asked, starling Sam slightly. “Can’t they just hover above us and send down lines?” Sam hesitated a second, before replying. 

“I think… yes? I haven't been on them much, I’m not gonna lie, I’m not completely sure what their specs are for shit like that.” Bucky bit his lip as he squinted upwards. 

“The last time I flew one…” he trailed off, turning to look at Sam with a vaguely guilty look on his face. 

“Was the day we took down Insight?” Sam guessed, and Bucky just looked guiltier. Sam reached out, taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing it, and his face changed into an expression of surprise. “You remember anything about that?” Sam asked, because it wasn’t the time or place for a conversation about that day. 

“Not really,” Bucky said slowly. “They taught me a lot of stuff, or put it in my head, I don’t know, but it’s all very… perfunctory. No extra information about shit that wasn’t directly related to what I had to do.”

“So no information on rappelling from a hovering jet,” Sam said, and Bucky nodded. Sam hummed, staring into space as he tried to think back on the few times he’d been aboard a quinjet. He and Steve had never had any cause to climb down lines however, not with Sam’s wings and Steve’s predilection towards just jumping out of the fucking things. 

“I can’t think of why they wouldn’t be able to,” Bucky offered, and Sam nodded, turning back to him. 

“I can’t either,” he admitted, “there shouldn’t be a reason, not that I can think of anyways. They’re certainly capable of hovering.” Bucky gestured towards Sam. 

“Call Steve then, let him know.” Sam pulled out the phone, turning it on and, for the first time, turning on the phone’s GPS capabilities. Dialing Steve’s number, he and Bucky looked at each other in silence as it rang once, twice, before there was a click. 

“Hey,” Steve said. “We’re still about an hour away, it took longer than expected to get out of the country. There was some… resistance.” Sam raised an eyebrow, but decided not to ask, for now. 

“That’s fine,” he said. “We’re in a forest, well away from the city, but we’re having trouble finding a clearing for you to land in. Would you be able to drop ropes?”

“Yeah,” Steve said easily, “that’s no problem. And probably easier than you trying to fly up and land in the bay.” 

“A bit easier, yeah,” Sam said, voice dry. Steve laughed. “I’ve turned on my GPS,” Sam said. “You should be able to track us.” 

“Tash?” Steve said, voice slightly distant. There was a pause, before he finally replied. 

“Got you,” he said. “Just stay right there, and we’ll be there in about an hour. We’ll come in with cloaking on and only turn it off once we’re on top of you, just in case.”

“Sounds good, Steve,” Sam said. 

“I–,” Steve started, then stopped. There was a long, static-filled pause before he spoke again. “I’ll see you soon,” he said. 

“See you,” Sam said, and the line went dead. Sam snapped the phone shut, slipping it back into his pocket. 

“You should turn off the GPS,” Bucky said, gesturing towards Sam’s pants. 

“Fuck, yeah, thanks,” Sam said, pulling it back out and turning off the GPS. “Did you hear that?” he asked as he again tucked the phone away. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “an hour to kill.” He glanced at the woods around them. “Do you think it’s worth it to keep trying to find a larger clearing?” he asked, “Since we have the time?” Sam shook his head. 

“Nah,” he said. “Steve’s already got a lock on us, and rappelling up is easy enough. No point in wandering around, inviting trouble.” Bucky snorted. 

“What makes you think we’d be inviting trouble by walking around a forest?” he asked, eyes alight with humour. Sam raised an eyebrow, not saying anything. Bucky laughed again. 

“Fair,” he said. 

“We wander around and we’ll probably find some Soviet-era bunker full of zombies or some shit,” Sam said, rather unnecessarily, just to see Bucky laugh again. 

“Or a bear,” Bucky said, “genetically engineered, obviously.”

“Of course,” Sam said, humour clear in his voice even as he tried to school his face into something resembling seriousness. “Maybe with a metal arm.” Bucky looked at him askance. 

“Are you trying to say something about my looks?” he said, and Sam shook his head. 

“Of course not,” he said. 

“Because I’m very attractive.”

“Obviously.”

“A catch even.” 

“Who doesn’t want a brainwashed assassin to call their own?” 

“Exactly!” Bucky said, gesturing triumphantly towards Sam. 

“The freezer burn is a bit unfortunate, but we all have our crosses to bear,” Sam said with a grin. Bucky sighed. 

“This is true,” he said. 

“For example, I have to deal with the fact that I am so devastatingly handsome that I can’t help but seduce assassins from the side of evil.” Sam casually leaned back against the truck of the tree, fighting not to shift uncomfortably as his pack dug into his spine. Bucky gave him a skeptical look. 

“That’s an interesting interpretation of events,” he said finally, stepping closer to Sam. Sam tilted his head back a bit to keep eye contact. 

“What do you mean interpretation?” Sam said, “you saw me on that helicarrier and were–.” 

Whatever else Sam was going to say was lost in the press of Bucky’s lips against his own, a gentle brush that quickly turned into something deeper. Bucky dropped his bag on the ground, freeing his gloved hands to rise up and cradle Sam’s head as they kissed. Sam wound his arms around Bucky, pulling him even closer. Bucky stumbled slightly on the root-laden ground before pressing up against Sam. Sam hummed happily as Bucky licked into his mouth, pulling back to gently bite his lip. Sam pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s lower lip, then leaned back slightly. 

“See?” Sam said, opening his eyes. “Seduced from the side of evil.” The smile that Bucky gave him felt like a gift, and it set Sam’s insides alight. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft, “I was.” Sam was pretty sure he was blushing, dizzy with the sound of Bucky’s voice and the emotions written within his words. He tried not to think about it as he pulled Bucky back in for another kiss. The sun was finally rising, bathing the centre of the clearing in a warm, pale yellow light even as the trees kept their shadows. When Sam broke their kiss, it glinted off Bucky’s arm, lighting the sky and warming Sam from the inside out. Sam closed his eyes against the sudden glare of the light, smiling from the warmth of it, from the weight of Bucky pressed against him. When he opened them again, Bucky was looking back at him with such intensity that Sam felt like he could drown in it. His fingers clutched helplessly at the back of Bucky’s jacket. 

“I–” Bucky started, and then his head jerked up. Sam registered it a moment later – the sharp crack of a stick breaking. He pushed himself up from the tree. Sam looked around the clearing, very aware of Bucky doing the same beside him, his entire body tense. Nothing had changed since they had arrived in the clearing however, though Sam saw that the fog had lifted with the sunrise. The glow of the sun was making it difficult to see into the trees ringing them, but as Sam and Bucky both strained their ears, there were no further noises. Bucky turned back to Sam, brow furrowed.

“Wha–” Sam said. Something hit the tree between them, exploding the bark and sending chunks of wood flying at their faces. Sam flinched back on instinct, before quickly turning and tracking the trajectory of whatever had hit the wood – probably a bullet. At the treeline directly across from them, where before there had been nothing but forest, there was now a man. He was holding a gun, raised and pointed towards Sam and Bucky. His hair was divided in a severe part, and though he was wearing a plain blue coat, everything about him screamed military. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice heavy with an accent – Sokovian, maybe. Neither of the men replied. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said, stepping forward into the light. “You’re a hard man to find, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky twitched back, and Sam fought to not look over at him. 

“Who are you?” Sam called out as Bucky shifted slightly next to him. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” the man said instead of answering Sam, and Sam saw Bucky freeze next to him. Glancing over, he saw that Bucky had been reaching for something on his belt at his back. “If you go for a weapon,” the man continued, and Sam turned back to watch him. “I will kill your… friend.” The man turned to look at Sam. He hadn’t moved any closer, but his gun was still trained at them – at Sam – unwaveringly. 

“Who are you?” Sam repeated, when it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to say anything. 

“My name is Helmut Zemo,” he said, and Sam cursed internally, glancing over at Bucky. Bucky was staring across the clearing at the man – at Zemo – with an intensity that promised imminent, painful, death. 

“I heard you were looking for us,” Sam said slowly, “wh-”

“I was looking for him,” Zemo interrupted, gesturing with his other hand towards Bucky, and Sam barely resisted the urge to look back over at Bucky. “You… I don’t know who you are.” He smiled then, unexpected and far too wide. “A gift, I suppose. Someone the Winter Soldier cares about. Who knew there was such a thing.” Zemo looked back at Bucky. 

“I lost you in the city you know,” he said, “after you left the train. If you hadn’t turned on your phone, I probably wouldn’t have found you again. I suppose you’re out here waiting for extraction?” Neither Bucky or Sam said anything, and after a moment, Zemo shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered, of course. I would have found you eventually,” he said, “it was inevitable. Wherever you went, no matter who you tried to have hide you. But this does make it much easier.” He moved a couple steps closer. 

“What do you want?” Bucky finally spoke, his voice a low growl, and Sam lost the battle with himself to not look at him. Bucky was still staring at Zemo, eyes narrowed as he carefully tracked his progression across the clearing. The looseness in his shoulders belied the tension that was visible in the lines of his face, the way he had positioned his legs. It was the stance of someone ready to fight at a moment’s notice. 

“I want my family back,” he said, and Sam turned back to Zemo in surprise. Zemo smiled, a small, bitter thing. “Of course, I can’t have that. They’re dead, all of them. My wife, my son, my father. All because of your Avengers.”

“We’re not-” Sam started, but Zemo interrupted him again. 

“Americans,” he said, spitting on the ground, “all so arrogant, all so sure they know what is best for everyone else. You know what would have been best for Sokovia? If Tony Stark had not created a monster to rip our cities from the Earth and sow the ground with the bodies of our children.” 

“Jesus,” Sam breathed. 

“I was called in to fight that day. My father lived outside the city, and I thought my family would be safe there.” Zemo paused, cleared his throat. “My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, ‘Don't worry. They're fighting in the city. We're miles from harm.’” Zemo took another step forward, looking back and forth between them with a hateful look twisting his face. “It took me two days until I found their bodies. And the Avengers? They left, as if nothing had ever happened.”

“We aren’t Avengers,” Sam tried again, “I’m sorry about what happened to your family, but we weren’t there. We-”

“I know you were not there,” Zemo said, stopping Sam. 

“They why were you looking for us… for me?” Bucky asked, and Zemo smiled again, the grin of a skeleton, all teeth and bones and rot. 

“Because I know I cannot kill the Avengers. More powerful men than me, aliens and robots and _gods_ , have tried and failed. But a monster wearing the face of a friend, sent to tear them apart from the inside…” he trailed off, and Sam’s eyes widened at the implication of his words. 

“That’s why…” Sam said under his breath, glancing over at Bucky. 

“I won’t,” Bucky said, staring unflinchingly at Zemo, “I’m not becoming that ever again.” He paused, then stepped forward, hand again moving towards his back. 

“I’ll die first,” he said. Zemo cocked his gun, unmistakably aiming it at Sam. 

“He’ll die first,” he said. Sam froze, and so did Bucky, his eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and the gun with a helplessness that hurt Sam’s heart. Sam shook his head at him. 

“Please,” Bucky said, and Sam didn’t know what he was asking for. He wasn’t sure Bucky even knew. Maybe just for mercy, for them both. Sam wondered if anyone had ever shown Bucky mercy. He tried to remember if anyone had ever shown any for him. 

Zemo reached into his jacket, pulling out a small black book emblazoned with a red star. Bucky went impossibly still at the sight of it, and Sam’s eyes flicked to him and back. 

“I got this from your old friend Vasily Karpov, do you remember him?” Bucky jerked at the name, and Zemo grinned, that same rotted smile. “I guess so,” he said. 

“He died,” Bucky said. “He shot... he shot himself, in his home. I went to Whitehorse myself, just to check.” Zemo shook his head. 

“Turns out Karpov was quite talented at faking his own death,” Zemo said. “Not as talented at hiding his tracks afterwards, unfortunately for him. It didn’t take me long to find him.” Half of Sam was stuck wondering what the book was, what it was to have Bucky clenching and then releasing his metal fist. The other half of him was sick with the certainty that he knew exactly what was in that book, had known from the second Zemo had pulled it from his jacket. 

“I was a soldier too, you know,” Zemo said conversationally, as if he wasn’t pointing a gun at Sam’s head, as if he wasn’t holding Bucky’s freedom in his hand. “A commander. And you know what I learned, all my time in the military? That no matter how impossible the odds, all you need is the right weapon. All the tactical decisions in the world bow to the power of the atomic bomb.”

“I am not a bomb,” Bucky said, and Zemo shook his head. 

“Maybe not anything so crude. A precision instrument, not a blunt one. But not any less deadly.”

“I don’t do that anymore.” 

“Don’t you?” Zemo asked. “There’s a bloody path of bodies across Europe that begs to differ.” 

“Killing Nazis doesn’t count, fuckhead,” Sam said, at the same time as Bucky said, “That’s not the same.” 

“Hydra deserves its place in the ash heap,” Zemo said, “but let’s not pretend that you can ever be anything more than a weapon, Soldier.” Bucky flinched, and Sam ground his teeth together. Zemo’s gun held steady, however, and there was nothing Sam could do that wouldn’t get him killed. 

“I’m not a weapon,” Bucky finally said, voice wavering slightly. 

“You’re going to kill him,” Zemo said, nodding towards Sam. “And then you are going to get picked up by whoever is coming here, and you will go to America and make sure the rest of the Avengers die as well.” 

“No,” Bucky said, a note of fear threading his voice. Zemo smiled, opening the book without looking away from the two men standing in front of him.

“Zhelaniye,” he said, not bothering to look down at the pages. Bucky twitched, a rough shake of his head, as if he could shake the word free. Zemo looked at him carefully as he spoke again. “Rzhavyy,” Zemo said, and the twitch was even more obvious this time. Bucky’s arms jerked at his side, obviously fighting the instinct to try and cover his ears. Still, Zemo tutted in warning, shaking the gun, and Bucky’s arms stilled.

“Please,” he said, so soft that Sam barely heard it, and Sam’s nails bit into his palms.

“Semnadtsat. Rassvet,” Zemo continued, each word making Bucky jerk like a physical blow. His eyes were beginning to glaze over in a way that made Sam equal parts terrified and nauseous. Sam’s fingers itched to reach for his gun, but Zemo’s hand was unwavering, his eyes flicking back and forth between them too quickly. There wasn’t anything for Sam to do but watch. He wouldn’t be fast enough to grab his gun and get a shot off, not without getting either Bucky or himself killed. 

“Pech. Devyat’,” Zemo continued, and Bucky was no longer twitching with the violence of the words, their attack on everything that he was. His hands had fallen out of fists and were instead hanging passively by his side, while his entire posture had relaxed. Sam felt like he was watching everything that made Bucky _Bucky_ drain from him in front of his eyes. It was like he was watching him die, and Sam couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Dobroserdechnyy,” Zemo said. “Vozvrashche-”

It was only a handful of seconds, a quick look down at the page as the harsh Russian consonants paused on Zemo’s tongue. 

It was all Sam needed. 

His gun was in his hand before his brain had really fully parsed the command to _move_. He aimed and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion, just as Zemo began to raise his eyes from the pages of his book. 

Zemo’s head jerked back, a spray of blood dusting the ground behind him before his body followed it down, crumpling backwards. The sound of the gunshot echoed in the small space of the clearing.

Sam breathed, then breathed again. He turned to Bucky, who was staring at the spot where Zemo had been standing, his eyes as empty as they had been that day on the helicarrier. Sam’s stomach dropped. A second passed, then another, and Sam could taste his fear on the back of his tongue. His hand shook as he turned his gun towards Bucky. Sam took a slow breath. 

“Bucky?” he said, and his voice barely shook. Bucky didn’t move, and Sam breathed in, and out, blinking hard when tears threatened to overwhelm his vision. “Bucky?” he said again. 

Bucky blinked, turning towards Sam. His face was blank for a second, before shattering into such an expression of naked relief that it hurt to see it. Sam took two long steps towards Bucky. They both reached out at the same time to pull each other into a bruising embrace. Bucky’s hands clutched at the back of Sam’s jacket as he buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam never wanted to let him go. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said into Sam’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Sam shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as hot tears ran down his face, and he tried to hold Bucky even tighter against himself. 

“You’re okay,” Sam said, voice muffled against Bucky’s skin, “you’re safe, I have you, you’re okay, we’re okay.” Bucky let out a choked noise. 

“I’ll never be free of them, will I?” he asked, voice small, as he turned his face further in towards Sam’s neck.

Sam shook his head. “You will be,” he whispered, “I promise. Even if I have to burn them all down and salt the earth myself.” Sam felt the way Bucky’s lips tilted upwards into a hesitant smile against his skin. They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, Sam letting the weight of Bucky in his arms ground him and comfort him, until the faint sound of jet engines finally reached their ears. They pulled apart, Bucky catching hold of Sam’s hand and squeezing tight as they looked up at the sky. Wind tore at the trees, the grass of the clearing, and the clothing of the dead man behind them. Leaves swirled through the air as the dark shape of a quinjet suddenly appeared out of the sky above them. Sam looked over at Bucky, to see him staring upwards with a look of clear apprehension on his face. 

“Hey,” Sam said, squeezing his hand and causing Bucky to turn to look at him. Sam smiled at him. “We’re going home,” he said. Bucky’s eyes flicked across Sam’s face for a moment, before he smiled. 

“I already am home,” he said, and Sam finally let himself name the sweet warmth flooding his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed the story – if you did, [feel free to reblog it on tumblr!](http://stevespumpkinbooty.tumblr.com/post/165652155488/were-living-like-were-gods-words)
> 
> Again, you can find the art (and Hela) [on tumblr](http://helahler.tumblr.com/tagged/swbb) and you can also find me [on tumblr](https://stevespumpkinbooty.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you again to Megan and Helen for betaing this, sorry I didn't manage to finish it before the start of school (all mistakes in the last two chapters are my own).
> 
> Everyone who knows me, please never let me decide to write something this long in such a short period of time ever again.


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